Closure: Forgetting Mary Winchester
by Tanyk
Summary: Dean's relationship with Cassie turns out to be the most important case of his life. At the end of Episode 01.13, instead of driving away for good, Sam insists they turn the car around. Dean would rather jump out than face Cassie again. When he does, their story unfurls to its bitter, inevitable end.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE -THEN  
The Thing in the Closet didn't scare Amir Park. At four, he already knew that wasn't real. But the Mirrorman, he had seen with his own huge, dark eyes.

The little boy climbed onto the stepping stool. In the same instant as he let himself peek up at his own slick, black hair and smooth, olive face, a man appeared and scowled back from behind the icy glass. Heart racing in his little chest, Amir's head whipped around to be sure he was actually still alone in the bathroom.

A saggy flap of skin hung over the sunken hole where the Mirrorman's left eye should have been. The other jaundiced eyeball bulged menacingly from a dark socket. An angry, red gash marred the left side of his face. He rasped the same words as always. "Repeat: I have to end it before it begins."

Petrified, the boy whispered the words until a violent knock rattled the door and he stumbled from his stool. "Amir!"

His little legs dangled and kicked against the cabinet as he held himself up with his elbows dug into the counter. The Mirrorman held a crooked finger to his lips, urging him to keep their secret.

He scrambled out of the bathroom, into his mother's arms, leaving the cold water running.

PART 1 - NOW

Driving away from a case didn't usually ache. In fact, it was usually cause for a little internal celebration, maybe a beer: another life saved, another evil bastard down. But, this hadn't been a usual case and Dean Winchester was in pain.

Through his truckstop shades, the landscape passed by in a dark blur of corn and farmhouses, fields of sheep and antique shops. His fingers drummed the passenger's side door handle without any particular rhythm. He wasn't even aware of the crap music twanging from the radio station his brother had chosen while he was asleep.

Sam kept his hands at ten and two, occasionally glancing over at Dean's face. There was nothing to see. He was perfectly stoic, predictably Dean. No indication that just an hour ago, they had driven away from the only woman Sam could ever remember his brother actually, almost, sort of acknowledging he had feelings for. The whole thing still addled Sam's mind. "Hey. You okay over there?"

"Awesome," Dean grumbled, pissed at himself for how shitty he felt and pissed at Sam for noticing.

"Yeah, you look awesome. Like an awesome train wreck."

Dean stopped fidgeting and sighed more loudly than he had intended. He decided that he would tuck and roll out of the fucking car if his brother brought up this thing with Cassie again.

Sam looked over. "So, you would honestly rather sit there stewing in your own juices than admit you didn't want to leave her?"

"Do me a favor, Dr. Phil, and mind your own goddamn business." Dean went back to staring out of his window.

Sam was more than familiar with his brother's belligerent routine. What he was not used to were the authentic emotions that practically roiled beneath Dean's irritation. He'd never seen his brother torn up like this. It was endearing and entertaining and, frankly, weird.

"You know, we have nowhere to be right now. Caleb took care of PA. Dad doesn't want us anywhere near whatever the hell he's doing. We could set up shop for a little while - at least until we get some new names or coordinates or whatever." As he spoke, Sam peeked out of the corner of his eye, expecting some sign of interest in what he was suggesting.

Instead, his older brother scratched his nose under his sunglasses and grit out between clenched teeth, "Why? Why do you give a shit?"

"Seriously? Because, you're my brother, Dean. And I want you to be happy. Also, because I need you sharp, so you can watch out for my ass."

Dean chuckled a little. He'd recently said something similar about Sam's atrocious sleep habits. At least the kid was actually listening to him.

Relieved, Sam smiled. Humor usually got through to his brother where affection failed. Still joking, he added, "And that's not going to happen if you're pining over some girl."

The grin melted from Dean's face. "She's not just 'some girl.'"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed thickly, his own pain closing around his throat like a fist. "I know."

BACK THEN

Dean might as well have been the king of the campus. The three inch layer of snow on the ground didn't bother him one bit. Neither did the frigid wind whipping his face. He felt like everyone of those towering brick buildings belonged to him, personally. His keys jangled as he twirled them around his finger in time to the tune he was whistling: the Andy Griffith theme song.

As usual, Cassie was taking her sweet time, probably wrestling with all of that hair. Dean had gone down ahead of her to warm up the car. He didn't even mind her taking so long to get ready; the results were always worth it.

The sound of his boots crunching over the snow stopped abruptly as an instinctive chill - one that had nothing to do with the weather - shot through his body. Dean froze. His dad was sitting on the hood of the Impala smoking a cigarette. "So, this is the 'den' you're staking out? Doesn't look too dangerous to me."

Dean lowered his head like a cowed teenager, silently cursing himself for it.

John flicked the unfinished butt to the ground. "So, now you're lying to me, boy? For some girl."

"No, sir." Dean willed himself to look up from the orange embers and the fading wisp of smoke on the asphalt to meet his father's steely eyes.

It was as close to a direct challenge as the young man could muster. He hadn't lied, exactly. He had staked out the vampire den for a while and then, he had gone to be with Cassie. And she was a lot more than just "some girl," although he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, let alone to his father.

Dean thought about asking the elder Winchester about how it felt getting to know his mom. He quickly decided against it. He could tell by the the old man's glare that they were not father and son at the moment, but Captain and soldier.

He sensed rather than heard as Cassie bounced up beside him. She slipped her arm around his waist, tucked her thumb in his belt loop and smiled politely at John. Dean cleared his throat as a fragrant swirl of vanilla, honey and coconut accosted him. "Cassie Robinson, this is my dad, John Winchester."

The silver bangle he had given her hung prettily from her thin wrist as she held out a gloved hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Grudgingly, his dad removed his cap. He scraped his fingers through his black hair before tucking the hat under his arm. He shook her hand and looked her over, but didn't utter a word. With one hand on the small of Cassie's back, Dean handed her the keys and kissed her cheek. "Can you warm her up for me? I'll be right there."

Following his son back to his truck, John cast another glimpse over his shoulder, "You've checked her out? Thoroughly?"

"Of course." It had not been easy to do it inconspicuously, but Dean had subjected Cassie to the full battery of tests. She was impervious to silver, holy water, iron, salt … the works.

"And you're sure she's not a succubus?"

"She's not a fucking succubus, Dad. Sorry, Sir. She's good with silver, so..." He stepped to the side a little, obstructing his father's mistrustful glare at Cassie in the Impala.

"This is not like you, Dean. You're sure?" He peered over the boy's shoulder again. "A lot of ugly things can make themselves look good. You ought to know that."

"I'm sure."

John pulled out his pack of Marlboros and slapped it against his palm a few times. "So…"

"If it's cool, I'll … This'll be my headquarters. While we're here. You'll let me know if, when…" Dean held his breath, willing his father to agree to what he was asking. He didn't want to point out that he was an adult. Something about that argument would make him feel like less of one.

John shook his head. The cigarette bobbed between his pursed lips as he spoke."This is a bad idea."

"It's a temporary thing. Like a fix, you know."

"Yeah, I know. You're playing house and it's a bad idea. Scoot." John Winchester struck his match and sighed as Dean damn near skipped back to the Impala.

"To hell with it." Sam spun the steering wheel hard with his left hand, spinning the car on a dime.

The tires screeched against the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Rubber burned off onto the blacktop and caused an acidic haze to taint the air.

"Turn the car around, Sam." Dean's voice remained level, although he could feel his pulse picking up.

"No."

"I swear to god, man." Without warning, Dean grabbed the wheel and yanked back to the right.

Sam gripped tight and tried to steady the car. "Knock it off!"

He had just intended to stop the Impala from swerving dangerously between the two lanes on the, thankfully, nearly secluded highway. It was a complete accident that his elbow connected with Dean's face. "Shit! I'm sorry."

The cracked shades crumbled to his lap in two pieces. He pinched the bridge of his possibly broken, profusely bleeding nose.

"You all right?" Righting the car, Sam grimaced at the crimson mess coating his brother's chin and slipping through his fingers.

Dean tilted his head back and caught the flow with his hands in a futile attempt to keep his upholstery clean. It was a lost cause. He lashed out and slammed his little brother's skull against the driver's window with a loud thud. It left a bloody hand print on Sam's ear and made Dean feel a little better until the car jerked and veered off course again. A sixteen wheeler in the oncoming lane honked frantically. It weaved just in time to avoid pulverizing them.

Dean wiped at his face with the back of his wrist and snarled behind bloody teeth. "I'm only going to say this one more time: Turn. The fucking. Car. Around."

"Or what?"

Dean opened his door. A gust of cold wind filled the car as he hung his right foot out over the road to time his jump.

"Seriously?" Sam considering daring his brother to do it. He knew Dean a little too well for that. Instead, he checked the rear view mirror for traffic and pulled over.

"All right, all right. God."

Dean peeled off his bloody flannel and bunched it up against his face.

Sam reached out to pull it away. "Let me see."

Dean swatted his hand and swung his feet out onto the grass. He hung his head and let the blood flow freely, now that it wouldn't muck up his seats.

"I'm sorry about that. Look, I'm just saying, if I could be with Jessica right now, or have the chance of going home to her when all this is over…" Sam huffed and hung his head, ready to give up. If Dean didn't know what he was missing, screw it.

"She doesn't fucking want me." Dean's voice quivered. " She's made that clear, Sam. Not once. Twice." He had never been so grateful to be in physical pain. It at least dampened the other kind.

He breathed loudly through his mouth, refusing to let this moment of weakness descend any further. Sam diverted his eyes through the windshield, unsure how to respond to the remote possibility that his big brother was going to start crying. "I don't think that's true. I think you're both too stubborn to see what's in front of you. Go back now and tell her you won't take no for an answer. And if she still sends you away, then you know. And you can let it go once and for all … People need that kind of closure, Dean. Even freaks like you."

NOW

"You're a meddlesome bitch, you know that?" Dean slammed the car door behind him.

The Impala idled quietly outside of the quaint, white country house. Exhaust puffed out grey against the light snow that fell as evening approached.

"You're welcome, jerk." Sam mumbled to himself as his brother sauntered up to the house.

Unlike Dean, he had no experience with picking up complete strangers. He didn't even want to know about it. What he did know was how to be in a relationship: if you were serious about the girl you had to show her, even if it meant fighting for it.

Dean stopped at the door, but didn't ring or knock. He thought of all the bone crunching, blood sucking, otherworldly motherfuckers who had tried to tear him limb from limb in his lifetime. They were all less terrifying than facing this woman again. At least he knew exactly what to expect from monsters. But Sam was right. A third strike would tell him, once and for all, that he was out. Then, he could just banish her from his mind after that.

Right. Because that had worked so well the last time.

"Just fucking do it," Dean growled at himself, but his hands remained stubbornly glued to his sides.

He shook his head, turned on his heels, marched down the steps and back toward the car. The locks clicked shut from the inside as Sam jammed the heel of his hand over the button. Dean swore under his breath. "I am going to choke the life out of that little shit."

He sighed and dragged his ass back to the porch. Scraping a palm down his face and scrubbing at his stubble, he inhaled deeply through his blood-encrusted nose. He straightened his fresh shirt.

The door was thick, probably oak, with an opaque glass oval in the center. He nearly stumbled backwards when it opened. Cassie gawked up at him. She was tugging a brown leather rolling suitcase in one hand and had a briefcase slung over the other shoulder. "Did you forget something?"

Dean had to remind himself that she couldn't help sounding so matter of fact all the time. It was the reporter thing. 'Dispassionate' was the word she liked to use. He swallowed, but it did nothing to soothe the fucking desert in this throat. "Um. No. That's the problem, Cassie. I can't."

She grimaced, "You know that's really bad, right?"

A smile unfurled across his face. "You love it."

She laughed a little and nodded. "I do."

Dean let out a huge breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and smothered her mouth with his own. Her hand dropped the handle of her bag. It hung in the air for a moment before fisting in his shirt. Finally, he leaned back and licked the taste of her from his own lips. Grinning, he tugged the end of one of her curls and asked, "Now what?"


	2. Chapter 2

On the day he'd died, Dean had put St Louis at the top of the list of towns he would never step foot in again. Against all odds, he was back. He maneuvered his car into a visitor's parking spot in the shadow of a swank brownstone mid-rise. He turned his nose up at the building, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Cassie hoist bags out of her silver Miata. Sam cleared his throat.

"What do you want now?" Dean rolled his eyes, fed up with his little brother's meddling ways, even if they had been effective.

Sam jerked his head toward Cassie as she closed the luggage compartment. Dean sucked his teeth and shuffled over to her side. Her grip didn't even loosen when he reached to wrest the handle of the suitcase from her hand. "Let me help you with that."

"It's okay. I got it." Without thinking about it, she poked out her elbow to keep him from taking the bag.

"No, let me…"

"Dean. I have it."

He threw his hands in the air and stepped back to make space for her to pass. Silently, he pumped a fist at his brother. Sam grinned, shrugged and followed them inside.

As they stepped into Cassie's apartment, Dean sniffed at the earthy sweet aroma. "What is that, laundry soap?"

Sam brushed his hands over the thin, dried, purple-tipped stalks that jutted up from a vase by the door. He held his fingertips in front of his brother's nose. Dean shoved him away, clearly expecting to smell something gross. Sam chuckled and shook his head. "It's lavender, dude."

It certainly didn't smell like a motel room. Those usually came in scents like musk, sweat, sex, vomit and, on a good day, artificial pine disinfectant.

Cassie hung her keys on the hook by the door and her jacket on the wooden tree rack. She briefly pointed out the kitchen to the left, suggesting they help themselves to anything. In the center of the living room were a black leather couch and a glass coffee table: housewarming gifts from her parents. A hall off to the right led to the bedrooms. She shrugged. "It's not much."

"Very classy, Cassie." Dean spun around, taking in the place and amused at his own rhyme.

Cassie rolled her eyes light-heartedly and grinned at Sam, who held back an apologetic snicker.

"Is that a Basquiat?" He gestured toward a painting on the wall.

Cassie's eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed. "Not an original. Obviously."

Dean eyeballed his nerdy little brother and shook his head at the embarrassing amount of useless information in that overgrown skull.

Sam shrugged, "What? I took modern art."

Cassie passed between the entertainment center and couch to point out a blue door. She glared at Dean. "This is the little girl's room. Respect that."

He threw his arms up in surrender. "What?"

"Toilet seat," Sam filled him in. "He hasn't lived with a woman since he was four," he explained to Cassie.

"Whatever." Dean gave him the finger and wandered over to pore through Cassie's massive and alphabetically ordered CD collection. A pained frown split his face as he pulled down a Kenny G record. "No, no, no. You have to be kidding me. Your taste has actually gotten worse."

Groaning, he chucked that hull and a few others over his shoulder. Cassie planted her hands firmly on her slender hips. "Are you crazy!? Pick those up!"

Sam tried, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter. Cassie shook her head as she traipsed down the short hallway and opened a door. "And this, Sam, is actually my office. But as you can see there's a futon in there that I hope is big enough." She looked over his towering frame with a shred of doubt.

He entered the room and dropped his duffel on top of the Ohio State Bobcats blanket. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Dean draped an arm over Cassie's shoulder. "If not, Sasquatch sleeps on the floor."

"I'm actually thinking I should just get a motel room. Let you two have some privacy." Sam searched Dean's eyes for a response.

It was Cassie who scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. After everything you've done, you both are welcome to stay here until …"

Dean heard the question implied by her sudden silence, but had no answer. Cassie tore herself away and headed for the kitchen. "How about some tea?"

As the water collected in the electric kettle, the front door lock clicked open. Out of habit, both Winchesters reached for the weapons holstered in the back of their jeans. Cassie glanced over her shoulder. Her face instantly lit up as a strikingly handsome young man with olive skin and jet black hair entered the apartment. His dark eyes immediately narrowed when he saw Dean.

"Hey!" Cassie rushed over and stood on her tiptoes to kiss the visitor's cheek. "Bryce. You remember Dean Winchester. And this is his brother, Sam. You guys, this is…"

"Bryce." Dean spit out the name, slinging the guy's palpable animosity right back at him.

Dean Winchester was the last person to get jealous or to be intimidated by some overly clean, gel wearing asshole in bright green pants and half a gallon of cologne. Still, the corner of Dean's lip curled into a sneer at the perfect part on the left side of this loser's scalp. He ignored the way Cassie's hand lingered on the well-muscled arm and gestured to the tidy rows of lime-colored frogs hopping along Bryce's white polo. "Nice shirt."

This jackass looked like he had fallen out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue.

Equally unimpressed, Bryce regarded Dean with an expression generally reserved for dog shit on the sole of his shoes. His eyes flitted over the amulet at Dean's throat and he growled something under his breath.

Dean narrowed his eyes, too, feeling a lot like Eastwood at high noon. "Do I know you?"

Cassie looked between them, sincerely hoping the stupid testosterone showdown was coming to an end. "Bryce was there the day you and I met. Remember?"

Dean remembered the day very well, but not this particular pain in the ass.

Bryce nodded bitterly, still scowling sharply at Dean, "Yeah. That was the day I told you that this guy was a degenerate and a waste of your time."

Dean took an almost imperceptible step, curling his fingers.

"Bryce. Please." Cassie struck his chest and urged him to back off.

He never stopped sneering at Dean, though. "He's nothing but trouble, Cass, and you know it."

Dean cracked his neck, ready to show this jackoff just what kind of trouble he was.

"Dean." Sam spoke up, quietly. He had been holding his ground by the sofa, watching the scene unfold. A fight wouldn't be fair and the last thing they needed was for this guy to call the cops in a city where Dean had, supposedly, gone through the mortuary.

Dean glanced over at Sam and back to Bryce before giving, what appeared to be, an effortless smirk. "Good to see you again, Bryce."

Cassie stroked Bryce's arm, as if she was calming an uneasy tiger. "I'm making tea. You want some?"

Reluctantly, Bryce trailed her into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter. She added a fourth mug to the line of cups on the counter.

"What is he doing here?"

Dean and Sam were in the living room, completely within earshot. Cassie lowered her voice. "They needed a place for a little while. I didn't want to be in my mother's hair anymore. She's dealing with enough right now."

"How long?" he hissed.

"As long as they want, Bryce." She practically hurled spoons into the mugs before shoving one towards him.

He leaned close to whisper. "This doesn't end well, Cass."

"Hey! You know what..." Finally fed up, Dean stormed into the kitchen.

Before he could reach Cassie's side, Bryce stepped between them. "It didn't end well before. It won't now."

"That's enough, pal." Dean practically pressed his chest into Bryce's. If this guy wanted to tango he was fine with that.

Bryce slowly wiped a drop of Dean's spit from his face and rubbed the fluid between his fingertips. "I'm not your pal, Winchester."

Sam's nostrils flared, but he didn't move. It would be so much more practical if Dean didn't give Cassie's friend a beatdown, but even Sam could admit that the guy was begging for it.

"Cool it, Stretch." Bryce barked in Sam's general direction. Then, he turned to Cassie. "I promise you, there is no happy ending with this guy."

He left the apartment without another word.

With his heart still pounding in his ears, Dean closed an arm around Cassie's waist and practically pulled her close. She rested her forehead on his shoulder. He kissed her hair. A hundred questions burned on his tongue, but he left them unspoken. What was he going to say if he found out the guy was Cassie's favorite fuck buddy? If that were the case, Dean wouldn't love it, but he'd figure out how to deal. What he hated was all the evidence suggesting that the guy was actually somebody important to her.

Rather than let on how agitated he was, Dean grinned. "Nice neighbors."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam told himself it wasn't envy. He would not succumb to such a base, vain emotion as that. Whatever he was feeling was green and bitter and ugly like some kind of slime that coated his tongue and wormed its way down into his gut. It made him want to throw up or run or both.

The door to the guest room shut quietly behind him. The muffled laughter grew louder as he approached the living room. There were glasses and a mostly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. As far as Sam knew, Dean had never drunk wine in his life. Beer, sure. Jack, hell yeah. But a Shiraz so fragrant Sam could almost taste it halfway across the room? So not his brother.

Dean and Cassie lay on the sofa, wrestling and giggling. He had pinned her hands at her sides and was mercilessly nuzzling her neck with his face. A low growl sounded in his throat and she squealed. Diverting his eyes from them, Sam cleared his throat and announced, "Um, I'm going to go check out the neighborhood. Maybe meet up with Zach and Becky."

He didn't actually think they'd heard, until Dean emphatically waved him off with one hand. Sam nodded and ducked out of the front door, closing it softly behind him. No matter what else he felt, he was glad that at least one of them was happy.

Hearing the door shut, Cassie whispered, "He's sweet."

"He's a pain in my ass." Dean brushed his lips across that spot on her neck again, loving the way she shuddered.

The vanilla oil was fading from her skin, but when he took a deep breath, it blended with her sweat and sent a warm thrill right to his bones.

"You never told me your baby brother is a giant." She laughed and tried to break free again.

Suddenly serious, Dean gazed into her dark eyes for a moment. "Hold on a second. I want to show you something."

He made a little show of straightening his stiff dick in his pants and hobbled back to the bedroom to dig the photos out of his stuff. When he returned, Cassie sat up on the sofa to get a better look. She took the pictures from his hands. "Wow, Dean, your mom was gorgeous. Wait, you said everything was lost in the fire."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He smoothed a dog-eared corner.

"Where'd you get these?"

"The old house."

Cassie's jaw dropped, "Whatever happened to 'never going back to Lawrence'? It was like your mantra."

"Things change." Dean shrugged and studied the image like he was seeing it for the first time. Like he didn't take these out and look at them at least once a day. "I saw my mom while I was there."

She squinted and earnestly tried to wrap her mind around what Dean was saying.

He looked directly at her and repeated, "I saw my mom."

Considering that a racist ghost truck had just killed her father, his best friend and even the mayor of the town where she grew up, Cassie decided she didn't require further explanation. She huffed out a breath. "Wow."

"You know, I had pretty much forgotten what she looked like?"

She nodded. "I remember you saying so. Did she tell you she was proud of you? She must be. What you do… you help a lot of people."

Dean lowered his eyes. He was going to kick his own ass if he cried. "No. She, uh, apologized to Sam."

"Apologized?"

"I guess that she wasn't around for him." He gave the best answer he could think of. The same question had been plaguing him.

Cassie shook her head, dissatisfied with his explanation. "But that wasn't her fault. It's not like she chose to die in that fire."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe he just needed to hear it. I don't know. It was over really fast."

Cassie caressed his thigh. "You must feel better. It always seemed like you needed closure on her death."

"'Closure.'" Dean tasted the word. "Must be the word of the day."

She smiled, not sure what he was talking about and gazed absently at her plants for a moment. "Do you think I'll see my dad?"

"I don't know. It's possible." Dean chose not to say how much he hoped she didn't see her father.

In his experience, ghosts were never a good thing. He had purposely neglected to talk about the poltergeist that had taken over his childhood home, figuring Cassie had dealt with enough nightmares already.

She examined the photo in her hand again. "You were kind of funny looking, weren't you?"

"Why do people keep saying that? All kids are funny looking."

She laughed. "Look at your dad. He looks so happy."

Dean leaned in. He had been so busy memorizing his mother's face that he hadn't really noticed that before. "Yeah, he does, doesn't he?"

"How's he doing, anyway? He's got to be glad Sam's back." Holding the photo by the edges, like the treasure it was, she returned it to his hands.

"He's, uh … hard to say. He's kind of off doing his own thing right now."

"Hunting? A ghost?" It was still a little odd for Cassie to be talking about this stuff like it was normal. But knowing it was true, after all these years, it felt like she had a lot to make up for not believing him in the first place.

"Something else." Again, Dean opted not to go into detail.

"You weren't very specific about what that meant… back then." She pretended to pick lint from a pillow on the sofa.

Dean figured ' _back then_ ' was always going to be a sore topic between them. He picked up and emptied his glass in one swig. This stuff they were drinking was never going to be his favorite, but at least he was a little buzzed. "You didn't want me to be more specific back then. Do you want me to now?"

Cassie peered up at him and rolled her lips together.

"Well, more specifically, we took down a shapeshifter a couple miles from here just a few months ago. Nasty fucker. If I'd have known you were here, I'd have invited you to my funeral."

Cassie nodded, realizing how deeply she was in over her head. That had not been what she expected. In fact, she didn't know what she had expected. Everything with Dean was always uncharted territory. "Am I going to have to get used to you saying things like that all the time?"

He smiled, liking the sound of that. "Yeah."

She lowered her head and snickered; she knew exactly what he meant. "I didn't expect you to come back. Figured you had more hearts to break across the continental US."

"Nah. Just the midwest."

Cassie laughed and hit him in the chest with a pillow.

"Actually, I haven't…"

Instantly, her smile faded. There was no way she would believe it if Dean tried to tell her he hadn't been with anyone in all the time they'd been apart.

Sensing how heavy the air had suddenly become, he chuckled, "Oh, come on. You know me better than that."

Cassie seemed relieved to hear him say he was getting around. To his own horror, he heard himself keep blathering. "Just haven't… there hasn't been… Jesus, you know what? Forget it."

His throat was so tight, he wished he had another drink. This was the problem with Cassie: she always made him feel exposed. Talking about feelings was fucking horrifying - worse than taking on a wendigo unarmed.

He shook his head and left the couch. Needing something to do with his clammy hands, Dean searched through her music again.

Cassie watched him from the couch, giving him space, but not ready to drop it. "Dean. What were you going to say?"

Without turning around, he finished his damn thought, "Haven't had anything like what we had."

She walked over and stood beside him. She took the CD from his hand and rested her palm on the coarse stubble on his cheek. He'd probably shave tomorrow. She wanted to be there to watch. Maybe help.

"But hey, I never had to buy any birthday presents." Dean forced a chuckle at his own flat joke.

Cassie frowned. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't do that. Don't pull away from me." _You know I love you_. She thought it, but couldn't bring herself to speak the words. The last time she had said those words to this man, she'd been made to regret them immediately. Instead, she looked down and toyed with the leather cord around his wrist. "I'm glad you're here."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. For a moment, he just watched his college girl. She had always loved to read before bed: thick ass books, non-fiction. He'd never heard the names Noam Chomsky or Henry Louis Gates before or since going to bed with Cassie. He still wasn't sure who those dudes were, but he figured they were eggheads like his brother, probably.

Thinking of Sam, he fired off a text: ' _Stay gone. 3-5 hrs.'_ The phone played its mechanical melody as he turned it off. The thing landed on the carpet with a dull thud. His belt buckle clanked as he tugged it open, loudly for the benefit of his currently disinterested audience.

Cassie's mouth twitched, but kept her eyes glued to the page, reading over the same line again and again even as her body tingled with awareness of him undressing.

Dean waited at the edge of the bed until she couldn't resist anymore. Her eyes flicked up at him. First, she took in his devilishly grinning face. Then, her eyes fell to his belt, dangling open. He beckoned to her with a crook of his finger, "Come here."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I don't like it when you try to control me."

"Sometimes you do."

Her expression remained schooled, an unfazed mask completely belying the furious heat licking at her chest. She let out a breath through slightly parted lips. Then, she put her book on the night stand, crawled across the mattress and knelt on the bed in front of him, so they were eye to eye.

Her hands slid slowly down his shoulders, playing with one of the fraying sleeves of his ancient grey t-shirt. Dean must have had this thing since he was a teenager. Her eyes fluttered shut as she rubbed her face against his collar. For a moment, she lost herself in the musk of his skin, breathing in the faint notes of motor oil and gun grease and grilled meat and motel soap. A thousand washes couldn't entirely remove those smells from his clothes. Five years of dating men with expensive colognes hadn't erased them entirely from her memory.

Dean pulled the shirt over his head. "You want it?"

"Shut up." She snatched the thing and pelted it at him.

Dean tossed the shirt across the room and watched her small hands flit down his chest. One set of nimble fingers hooked under the elastic of his boxers while the other hand pinched his nipple, hard.

"You little…" Suddenly inflamed, Dean grabbed her wrist and rubbed her palm against the bulge in his boxers.

Cassie yanked her hand away. "Jesus, Winchester. Where's the fire?"

"Right here." This time, he gripped himself and gave his hips a little thrust forward.

She shook her head in mock annoyance. This guy had never been one for subtlety, modesty or patience. So many of Dean's experiences had been rushed encounters with nameless waitresses in filthy ass bathroom stalls. He could count on 3 fingers the girls he had been with more than once. He put all that out of his mind and reminded himself to let Cassie take her sweet time loosening his button and unzipping his fly, no matter how much it drove him crazy.

She blinked up at him and he rewarded himself for his restraint with a brief kiss. His hands rested on her slender hips, fingers splayed across the crests of her firm little ass. Giving it a light slap, he murmured, "You like that?"

When she nodded, Dean rewarded her with a long, languid taste of what was left of the wine on her tongue. He licked lightly along her lips, the way she liked. He hadn't forgotten that she preferred a more chaste kiss and relished the press and pull of her lips. The control it took not to just plunder her open mouth sent a wild surge of heat through him straight to his already anxiously weeping cock.

Patience spent, he lifted and laid her down with her head on her cream colored satin pillow. He pinned her hands together over her head with one hand. She struggled for a moment, but relented as the fingers of his other hand passed tenderly through her thick curls. All at once, they fisted tightly, tilting her head back so that he could brush his face against the side of her neck. For just a moment, he paused to feel her pulse race against his cheek. He licked the same path and pursed his lips to blow cold air across her sensitive skin.

A chill surged down Cassie's spine, along with the warmth and an unexpected twinge of jealousy. He had clearly had plenty of practice since they were together. Their first time, Dean had reached for her panties almost as soon as they'd started kissing. To his credit, he had noticed that she was unimpressed with his haste. Breathless and rock hard, he had stopped himself, searched her eyes and coaxed, "Show me. Show me what you like."

There had been a girl or two, both before Cassie and since, that he'd thought of sticking around for. But she was the only one he'd ever actually tried it with. In that way, just like right now, there was only this one woman in the world.

"You're so beautiful." He brushed his fingertips down one of her arms and then the other, enjoying the way she shivered at barely being touched.

His palm pressed firmly into the center of her chest as he leaned down and softly kissed her again. The thumb of one hand kneaded her collarbone while the other lifted the hem of her

silky blue nightgown. Smiling and never taking his eyes from hers, he rolled down her panties. Then, he wrapped his arms around the backs of both of her legs and backed down the bed, lowering himself while stroking her thighs.

Suddenly uneasy, Cassie leaned up on her elbows, squirming to get away. "Wait. Dean. I should probably take a shower."

"Mm-mm. After." He didn't want to taste soap. He wanted to taste Cassie.

" _Dean_ ," she whined, but gave up trying to stop him.

He smiled and nipped beside her navel. Below her navel. Inside her thigh. Dean had only been to the ocean once in his life, but this was the way he remembered the scent of it. Not chemicals and fake flowers like some girls after they've just douched. Cassie smelled real and alive and a little bit nasty.

Dean hoisted her hips up towards his shoulders and took the dive. It was like plunging face first into warm salt water. Then, he began to lick, like she was a pussy-flavored ice cream cone that was going to melt. The obscene slurp and slush sounds become his whole world for the moment. He lapped up, around and between all of her soft flesh, until he had mapped out her most intimate anatomy with his gifted tongue. He grinned to himself thinking that as tamely as Cassie liked to kiss, she didn't mind him Frenching her snatch.

God, the way she mewled and cried and arched and contorted and gouged her fingernails into the backs of his hand, and clawed at his scalp, it was almost as good as being inside of her.

Dean slipped a finger in alongside his tongue. The thought of penetrating her made his cock twitch with anticipation. But he could wait. The first time they'd come back together, back at her mother's house, had been way too quick. Then, Sam had called before he could redeem himself. This time was going to be different. He was going to be sure she got exactly what she needed.

At the same time as Dean gently nibbled her clit, he hooked his thumb and gently prodded at her tightly puckered asshole. Cassie bucked and shrieked and blinked up at him with startled eyes.

He lifted his head, "You okay?"

She wasn't sure. This was definitely new. She put her hands on his shoulders, breathing hard, feeling her legs beginning to tremble.

He loved that he had shocked her and reveled in the way her thighs quivered against his face. "You want something else?" He didn't think so, but wanted to be sure.

She shook her head, speechless.

Dean dove in again, this time, focusing all of his attention on Cassie's sensitive nub. Sucking, licking, nibbling, he took his pleasure from her gasps as they turned into shouts and spastic tremors. He had forgotten that she could be so fucking loud. He was dying to come into her, but not yet.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, Dean. Oh god, Oh god." Moaning, Cassie twisted her fists into the sheets, toes curled, every muscle in her lithe body tense.

He twined his fingers with hers, buzzing along to the same rhythm as her cries. His tongue flicked as fast as he could make it go until her chanting became a low whine. Then, he gently licked her until she was purring. Stroking his hair. Thrumming her satisfaction.

Dean wiped most of the moisture from his face onto the sheet and grinned up Cassie's body into her half open eyes. "Sorry. You wanted to read."

"Shut up." Flushed and fatigued, she squeezed his cheeks between her thighs.

Cassie's breath still caught in her throat. She smiled sleepily as Dean clumsily kicked off his slightly stained shorts and hovered over her. He held his breath and his cock steady as he slid smoothly into her. Her fingers dug into his back. She inhaled sharply.

Pure fire raced through Dean's veins as he was suddenly afflicted by a familiar terror. It was a dread that was usually just a dull ache in the back of his mind. An echo of his mother's death, Sam's desertion and now, his father's abandonment. That all reverberated in his pounding head along with the foul memory of how this very woman had discarded him. Over and again. Cassie had chucked him out like he was trash.

He was suddenly so fucking exhausted from constantly being deserted. He would rather just die.

He would rather just kill her.

Bile filled his mouth, acid and sour, until he was sure he would be sick. All over her.

Seeing that Dean seemed to have frozen, Cassie smoothed her hand over his damp brow and gazed into his ravenous, anguished, bottle green eyes and whispered, "Fuck me."

He shook off the sickness, burrowed his arms beneath her. His hips snapped fiercely once. She gasped and he waited to see if there would be a complaint. When none was forthcoming, he clasped onto her shoulders and drove himself home. He slid into her wet warmth, pace and intensity mounting with each sharp thrust. Before long, the sound of sticky skin slapping together filled the room.

Dean lost himself, lost track of time and space and decency, good and evil, love and hate. His entire body strained, almost painfully before he shuddered his release with a long, low groan. Even after he had filled her, he shook violently for a few moments, gasping roughly, like a drowning man.

Cassie rubbed her hands soothingly up and down his clammy back. Goosebumps popped out all across Dean's flesh. His body trembled again and a whimpering sound escaped his throat that didn't sound quite masculine enough to him. He cleared his throat and leaned up on his elbows to search her face. Satisfied that she was satisfied, he smiled and kissed her. Then, he dropped his body down on top of her.

They lay for a while, basking in the sound of their calming breaths. "Am I too heavy?"

Cassie shook her head: No.

Dean thought of asking if it was all right that he was still inside her, but he couldn't bear risking the wrong answer. "I love you." The words fell out of his mouth and stunned even him. He held his breath, waiting for Cassie's response.

An exhausted, ravished smile spread across her face. He kissed her cheek and watched until her eyes slip closed. "I would never hurt you."

Cassie whispered, "Go to sleep."


	5. Chapter 5

**BACK THEN**

 _Cassie_ ' _s hair had been nearly to her ass, sleek and black and curly as all hell. Dean_ ' _s hair was shorter. Damn near a crew cut. And lighter. He was just growing out of having been a blond kid. Her room was tiny, but she was an RA, so she had the whole space to herself. That was convenient, considering how much fucking they did._

 _They hadn_ ' _t spent every single waking moment in her room, but only because he_ ' _d had investigating to do. And she had classes. A couple of times, they went out and saw a movie or ate in the cafeteria, mostly on her suggestion. Dean figured it was because she didn_ ' _t want him to think she was a slut._

 _He never thought that. He did, however, think that he was going crazy. He kept having these vivid images of snuffing her: with a pillow over her face as her tiny hands clawed at him. Or with his bare hands, thumbs crushing her trachea. He saw himself gutting her with a bowie knife. And blowing her face to bits with a shotgun. He imagined bludgeoning her with a fucking crowbar. He had clearly heard her skull cracking loudly and felt the bits of brains and little shards of bone sticking to his cheeks and eyelids._

 _Mostly, these images would come while he was fucking her. As troubling as they were, they added a ferocity and grit to their lovemaking that he wouldn_ ' _t have traded for healthier thoughts - like picket fucking fences and walks on the beach - in the moment. Once his lust was slaked, though, he would stumble to bathroom, grip the sink, call his reflection a sick fuck and splash freezing water over himself until the dark fantasies subsided._

 _He_ ' _d never had those kinds of thoughts with any other girl. Then again, he_ ' _d never felt exactly like this about any other girl. Maybe it was just a result of his fucked upbringing. That was what he told himself, because what the hell else could it be? It was just his mind_ ' _s way of reminding him that he would never be normal. He also knew he would never act on any of these whacked out visions._

 _Until that day._

 _The crazy thing was that he couldn_ ' _t even remember what they had been arguing about. There had been an unhealthy dose of squabbling between them, as if to balance out the mind numbing sex and the inexplicable intensity of their almost instant connection._

 _What Dean could never forget was grabbing Cassie by her shoulders, shaking the shit out of her and smacking her face. It was much less than he had wanted to do, but it was something he had never done and that she had obviously never experienced before. They both stumbled away from each other, wide-eyed and stupefied. He had covered his gaping mouth with the offending hand, unable to even utter the pitiful apology that was a broken record in his head._

 _She slumped down on the foot of the bed, running her own knuckles over the place on her cheek that still stung from the force of the blow._

 _With all those violent thoughts, Dean had known before that something was wrong. Something was off, but he had been able to control it. On that day, the suspicion that she must be haunted—or something worse—hit him full force. It had to be her. He had never experienced anything like this before: such a powerful desire to hurt, to kill someone who was innocent. Someone he_ … _He had been too immature to use the word love, even inside own head, but he couldn_ ' _t deny that he cared for Cassie._

 _Dean had thought of leaving the dorm, but he was afraid she would lock him out and never see him again. So they both stayed in the room, silently ignoring the other's_ _presence. For a few hours, she read. He sat in a corner on the floor like a grounded toddler, waiting for her to be ready to talk to him._

 _And he thought. His mind raced over all the possibilities. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that Cassie was cursed. That was no big deal, as far as Dean was concerned. He had dealt with curses before. The problem was that if he was going to get rid of the curse on her, he was going to have to question her. Find out who, why, how._

 _The thing was, it wasn_ ' _t just a case. It was Cassie. This was his college girl and he didn_ ' _t think he was going to be able to get to the bottom of it and lie to her. He wasn_ ' _t even sure he wanted to anymore. Some lonely fucking part of him wanted to finally come clean about the_ ' _family business_ ' _, even though he had been warned against it his whole life. He had never told anyone. His dad knew who he really was. And Sam. That was it._

 _Dean had decided to start with something like an apology, although everything he could think of seemed inadequate. Finally, he took a deep breath and murmured to the floor,_ " _So, you hate me?_ "

 _At first, Cassie just pretended he wasn't there, like she hadn_ ' _t heard anything. It drove him nuts. Made him want to break a window with her face and chuck her out of it. Being upset with her only made it worse. He kept his back pressed to the wall, palms pressed to the floor, elbows locked. He resolved to end himself if he ever hurt her again._

 _Eventually, she looked up from her textbook. After a moment, she shook her head, straightened her back and tilted her chin up,_ " _It just better fucking well not ever happen again._ "

" _I swear, it won_ ' _t._ " _In a heartbeat, he crossed the space between them. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her waist. Looking up with glassy, penitent eyes, he muttered,_ " _I_ ' _m so sorry._ "

 _She kissed his forehead._

 _When they fucked, it was better than it had ever been. It lasted longer, felt even more intense. It had been like he was touching someplace deeper inside of her. Dean had intended to make it all romantic and gentle. To his credit, it had started out that way. Somehow, he had wound up behind her with his palm around her throat. They were like a pair of half-crazed dogs in heat. He licked up the sweat pooling in the center of her back and bit her ear._ " _You want me to fuck you?_ "

 _A voice in his head echoed —_ ' _You want me to fucking kill you?_ '

 _Cassie whimpered and the urge to finish her surged through him like a serpent, cold and scaly beneath his skin, through his marrow. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. The feeling morphed into an all encompassing acidic burn. Then, it became a need to fuck her into the mattress. To slit her throat while he came. To smear himself with her blood. It would be over in a matter of seconds and then she could never leave him. Then, he would stick a pistol into his own mouth and be done with this fucked up world._

 _The thoughts tortured Dean and ratcheted up his lust until he could hardly contain himself. He thought,_ ' _Oh god, please let her be close._ '

 _Cassie_ ' _s body tensed and a primal scream tore her throat as she collapsed forward. Her legs squeezed together on his hand, cramping the fingers that were still massaging her clit. Her mouth opened like the fucking pearly gates and poured out Dean_ ' _s favorite sound on earth: his own name being choked and gasped and panted._

 _The muscles inside of her clenched and roiled around him sending wave after unbearable wave of heat through him as he clung and fucked and shouted against her shoulder. He bit down. Too hard. Tasted blood. Cursed himself and came harder than he ever had before or since._

 _When it was over, he fell against her back, certain that if she moved he would choke the life from her body and that it would feel just as good. It would feel like a fucking orgasm to kill her._

' _Shut up, Dean. My god. Please stop it,_ ' _he pleaded with himself._

 _Finally, when it felt safe, he peppered kisses and feverish apologies into her ear. She clutched his arms tight around her and shuddered, tears slipping down her cheek. "I love you."_

 _He hadn't said it back: hadn't said a word. It was a cowardice he would always regret._

 _Later, when they were both awake, Dean brushed his lips against her hair and decided it was time. This thing was getting out of control. He needed to end it. He needed her help to know what to look for. His best guess was that she had been hexed by a past lover. Or haunted. That made the most sense, but she had never talked about anyone around her who had died. He would go about it carefully. He wouldn_ ' _t alarm her if he didn_ ' _t need to. He sniffed loudly, preparing himself._

" _Cassie, what do you think happens after you die?_ "

 _She chuckled and turned in his arms to face him and see if he was seriously asking that question._ " _Okay, Random._ … _I guess I still believe in God and heaven and all that. What about you?_ "

" _I don't know about God… Probably not._ "

 _Her face had fallen a little at that, although she had already known that he wasn_ ' _t religious—not that she was behaving like the church girl she_ ' _d been raised to be. At least not with Dean Winchester around._

 _Dean shook his head._ " _Heaven? Probably not either. I don_ ' _t honestly know what happens on a good day. I guess you just stay dead. What do you think about ghosts?_ "

" _Ghosts? Seriously?_ " _Her expression was bewildered and still slightly entertained._

 _Fear gripped him in the gut. A red flag waved frantically in his mind, warning him to stop. Turn back while he still could. But he couldn_ ' _t. He had to know what was cursing or haunting her. This was the only way._ " _Yeah. Do you believe in ghosts?_ "

 _She frowned,_ " _Um_ … _No. Not really. Dean, are you okay?_ " _She held her hand to his sticky face to check for fever. They were both a sweaty mess, but he didn_ ' _t feel any warmer than he should be._

 _Dean was far from okay, but he had started this. He had to finish it. He swiped a few unruly curls off of her damp forehead. She hadn_ ' _t had bangs back then. Just long ringlets that he'd love to twirl around his fingers._ " _What if I were to tell you that ghosts were real? And witches and vampires. Pretty much every creepy fucking thing you can think of._ "

 _She had stared at him for a long time, the look on her face signaling doubt and amusement. Then, confusion. Then, fear._ " _Have you seen a ghost?_ "

" _Several._ " _There was, of course, an even greater likelihood that she was cursed, but Dean didn_ ' _t have as much experience with curses. The last thing he wanted to do was enlist his father_ ' _s help if he didn_ ' _t absolutely have to. He was going to pursue the haunting theory first._

" _Okay._ " _It took a moment, but Cassie rolled off of the bed, stood up and used her fingers to peek between the blinds._

 _It was well after midnight. Nothing was happening outside. She just needed a moment to process the madness going down in her own room._

 _Dean was so gorgeous. So charming and goofy. Incredible in bed. Really, earth shattering. She_ ' _d had no idea sex could be like this. After she_ ' _d finally agreed to go out with him, he had become irresistible to her. So, they had nothing in common. He wasn_ ' _t exactly a Rhodes scholar. But he was so easy to be around. Even when they argued, it was that classic feeling like an old couple who'd been bickering forever. Who might go on driving each other crazy forever._

" _I, um … All right._ " _Dean swiped a sweaty palm over his spiky hair._ " _Time for me to come clean._ " _He wiped down his mouth and chin._ " _That_ ' _s what we hunt. Me and my dad. Not_ … _bail skipping scumbags_ … _Dead ones. Evil things that haunt and hurt people._ "

" _Ghosts._ " _Cassie nodded, her voice surprisingly even._

" _And other things._ " _He nodded, relieved to have spit it out and have her obviously understand._

 _Cassie took a deep breath, swallowed; bit her lip and looked at the wall behind him, the space around him, the ceiling above him for what felt like an hour. Her lips parted, cheeks puffed a little as she exhaled shakily. She had known it was too good to be true. She just felt blindsided. Like an idiot for not having anticipated this elaborate getaway scheme. Cassie was sure she knew what he was doing—with the slap, and now this ridiculous story. He was trying to escape. Making himself out to be a dangerous nut so that she would run like the wind. Even with the real fear swelling in her chest, she couldn't help trying to stave it off. Wanting him to change his mind._ " _Why are you doing this?_ "

 _Cassie hated the catch in her own voice: so needy and clingy._

 _Dean ignored his own floppy, flaccid penis. He had never let any girl see that before. He climbed out of the bed and walked toward her. When he saw her back away, he stopped._

" _I told you it was okay,_ " _she pleaded, bucking against her own nature and better judgment._

 _It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about._ " _No. Don't. It_ ' _s not okay._ "

" _Not that it's… It's not okay, but_ … _I forgive you. You don't have to act like a fucking lunatic._ " _Her nose stung, throat started to close up. She searched frantically back and forth between his breath-taking jade eyes._

" _Cassie, I_ …" _He carefully stepped toward her. His own mind rebelled:_ ' _You what, Romeo? You think she's haunted. Say that shit out loud, jerk wad. Spit it out. What do you think she'll say to that?_ ' _"You're upset. I'm doing this wrong._ "

 _She wanted him to stop pulling away from her, but she knew it was over. So, she willed herself to accept it. More than accept it, to take charge of it. With another deep breath, she whispered,_ " _Get out._ "

 _The words burned her throat on their way out. But it was good pain. It should hurt. It was like ripping out one of your own vital organs. That is what she had let him become and it was right that she should suffer for the mistake._

" _What?_ " _Dean_ ' _s head reeled, but he stayed glued to the spot._

" _You heard me. I said leave._ " _It was easier for Cassie the second time._

" _What? Why?_ "

" _You're not going to jerk me around. Get out. It's over._ " _Her back straightened and she kept her breath and tone of voice even._

" _What? Cassie, no. I swear. I'm not bullshitting you._ " _He tried again to approach her._

 _She grabbed the first book she could reach from the table and hurled it at him._ " _I said get OUT!_ "

 _Dean flinched and raised his arms in a half-assed attempt to protect himself. She had good aim. And a strong arm. Fucking softball._

" _Do you want me to call security? GET OUT! Get away from me! I mean it! Leave me alone!_ " _She was shouting now and throwing everything she could find, including her precious term papers. They fluttered to the floor, posing no threat but making an awful mess._

 _A bottle of lotion they had once used as lube connected with his forehead and hurt like shit._ " _Okay. Okay, I'm leaving. Can I put on my fucking clothes? Jesus._ "

 _She watched him dress, trembling and cold. It was like watching a horror film. Like being in a horror film. She clutched an electronic pencil sharpener in her had, ready to hurl it if he said another word._

 _The corner of Dean_ ' _s eye was bleeding from the some projectile she_ ' _d thrown. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Look, I…"_

 _She reared back as if to throw._

" _Okay." He slipped into the hallway._

 _Something banged against the door from the other side. Two coeds with pastel colored towels wrapped around their bodies gawked at him and giggled to one another. He stood there, dazed. Dean turned around and nearly knocked on the door again._

 _Cassie pressed herself to the other side, with one eye shut, the other peering through the peephole at him. She willed herself to back away and sit down on the foot of her bed, perfectly still as if she had an iron rod in her back. Her throat burned, face stung. Her whole body tremble. She shoved down a hiccup of a whimper, swallowing it. Refusing to cry._

 _Dean walked, unseeing. He wasn_ ' _t even sure how he had gotten back to the motel when he collapsed, face first and fully dressed onto the bed and fucking cried himself to sleep. Like a four year old._

 _It had been his plan to give her a chance to cool off. To go back the next day and make it right. Explain himself. Find out what the hell was making him want to hurt her and make it stop. That was the plan._

 _His dad had come in before dawn, kicked his foot and growled,_ " _Got the bastard. Get packed._ "

 _It took Dean a moment to wake up and fully process what was going on._ " _I need to see Cassie._ "

" _Son, I told you_ …"

" _I need to say goodbye._ " _There was a hell of a lot more that he needed to say._

" _If you feel like you need to see her one more time, it's better if you don_ ' _t._ "


	6. Chapter 6

Cassie wiped at the dry spittle at the corners of her mouth. Dean had fallen asleep, too, spooned behind her with his arms encircling her body like iron chains. It felt good to be held. To be with him. To be getting a second chance at this. But she had to pee.

She wiggled a little and tapped his hand, signaling that she needed to move. "Let me up."

He clung even tighter when she budged.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Stay." The idea of letting her go was filling him with an irrational panic. He knew it was crazy, but that didn't ease the terror.

"I'll be right back. You want some water?"

"I don't want to let you go. I can't." Dean hoped he had managed to make it sound romantic, not obsessive, like he felt.

Cassie smiled over her shoulder at him. "Do you want me to pee on you?"

"Kinky. Try it."

"Dean." She started to pry his fingers from around her.

He held his breath; sank his teeth into his cheek. Drawing blood and focusing on the sting, he subdued the compulsion to strangle her to keep her from leaving the bed.

Bryce's perfectly sculpted, entirely nude body glistened in the wavering glow of black candles. He sat cross legged in the center of a circle he had chalked on the floor. His eyes were shut and the lids painted black.

The job should have been done, but somehow he had failed. Goddamn it if Dean Winchester wasn't a persistent cancer. The Commander had not communicated in more than a decade. There was no way to know for sure whether the Original Timeline was thwarted. He had once believed himself to have been a child with an overactive imagination, with his memories of men who spoke to him through mirrors. Then he had met Cassie Robinson, precisely when and where the Commander told him he would. The same was true of Winchester. And here those two were, together once again.

In a low voice, he murmured a prayer in a long-dead language. The muscles in his arms twitched as his hands worked feverishly, grinding dark, dried leaves in a large mortar and pestle.

"I am an idiot." Cassie stumbled from her bedroom, sleepily wiping the crust from her eyes.

What had started as a great night had ended horribly and her head still throbbed from forcing herself not to cry about it.

She pulled the cord that opened the blinds and squinted as the sunlight pierced the living room with a harsh light. The next step in her morning routine was to feed the black moor goldfish she'd received as a gag present from her father. According to her parents, she had requested Black Beauty as a kindergarten graduation present. As with every wish she ever made, her dad had promised to fulfill it, when the time was right. On the day of her high school graduation, instead of a horse, he had given her the fish.

"Oh, Marcus. No."

The poor little guy now floated on his side, body stiff as a stone, fins billowing limply on the surface of the water. Gingerly, Cassie scooped her pet out of the aquarium with a net and laid him in a round, steel tea tin. She pressed the lid firmly in place and dropped herself into a chair at the table in front of it. Then, she buried her face in her hands.

Cassie wasn't sure why she hadn't cried at her own father's funeral. Maybe it was because she knew she had to stay focused to solve the mystery of his murder. Or that someone needed be stay strong for her mother. As awful as their breakup had been, Cassie hadn't cried at seeing Dean again after all these years. As difficult as it had been to get over him _back then_ , she hadn't shed a single tear. She had sucked it up, like she always did. Powered through it. Remained tough and pragmatic. Crying never brought anything or anyone back to you. It never fixed anything.

She had known the minute she agreed to go out with Dean that it was a dead-end relationship.

The differences between her parents were only superficial. Cassie was used to people craning their necks in curiosity and, occasionally, malice when they passed. She had grown up like that and didn't care when it happened when she was out with Dean. The trouble was that _differences_ were all there were between the two of them. At least that was how it felt. All they had going for them was really great sex. He was like fire: alluring and hot and constantly threatening to scorch her to the ground. He was something she knew she had no business touching.

You couldn't build a future on sex. Why was she even kidding herself?

"What am I doing? What am I doing?"

She had dated men from around the world: highly educated, wealthy, older, smarter, infinitely more sophisticated men and even one or two whom she found more physically attractive. Among them, Dean was unique in that he was least like her dad, at least on the surface. Her father was a world traveled, well-read, gifted academic and businessman. Dean Winchester was, basically, a hick with a gun and an attitude.

Beneath all the obvious discrepancies, though, they were very much alike. The one thing Dean had in common with her dad was more heart than anyone she had ever met. It was an intangible quality: heart. One thing she knew beyond a shadow of doubt was that Dean cared. Sincerely, deeply. About her. About the whole dying, bleeding world.

What she didn't understand was why he acted out sometimes. It was like he just lost his mind.

Now, finally alone in her apartment, with no one to impress or disappoint, no one to stay strong for or appear weak in front of, she broke into loud, ugly sobs, letting the tears and snot stream down her face and spill salty into her open mouth and down her chin. Her body rattled as she wept like she would never stop crying again.

The guest room door creaked open. Cassie frantically wiped the tears from her face with both hands and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam wandered groggily out of the room. Seeing the bathroom door closed, he knocked gently. Cassie replied, so he walked toward the kitchen, praying for a coffee maker. Instead, he found the fish in a can and small, wet net on the table. He lifted the container and peered in through the transparent top. When Cassie finally emerged from the bathroom, Sam was standing by the table with the tin in one of his large palms. "Should we bury him?"

"It's a fish." She had been going for casual, but had a feeling she had come off sounding bitchy. She drew in her lips apologetically and nodded.

Twenty minutes later, Sam leaned on the shovel and watched Cassie gingerly place the tin into the two foot hole among the roots of an oak tree behind the building. She stood up and settled herself beside Dean's kindly little brother with a sigh.

' _Kindly._ ' It was a word like 'heart.' You don't use it in everyday speech. It's kind of archaic and unusual, but Sam was like that: considerate in an almost weird, old-fashioned way. The word suited him. Kindly and youthful. He was an imposingly large man, maybe a foot taller than she was, with broad shoulders and a long gait. Still, he seemed so tender and young. Maybe it was that mop of hair or that Dean had always referred to him as his baby brother, Sammy, even _back then_.

"You want a stone or something?"

She shook her head silently, dusting her hands off on her denim skirt. "This is completely ridiculous, isn't it?"

"You've lived with this little guy for eight years. It would be disrespectful to flush him down the toilet."

Cassie nodded, took the shovel from him and filled the hole. "So, you and Dean are experts. Where do fish go when they die?"

Sam gave her a good-natured smile. "We haven't encountered any fish ghosts yet, which I would interpret to mean that most of them have finished their earthly business when they depart."

He was glad to see Cassie laugh. She had been through quite a lot in the last month and he had an idea how she felt. He took the shovel from her hands and began to accompany her back to the building.

"So, what else do you guys just have in your trunk besides shovels?"

Sam tensed at the question, "You probably don't want to know."

She considered who she was talking to and agreed, "No. I probably don't. Have you heard from Dean?"

Dean had texted his brother to meet him at this all-you-can-eat restaurant. When Sam finally found him in the crowded place, he was hunched over, clumsily shoveling a bacon double cheeseburger into his mouth with sloppily bandaged hands. A thick, pink gash ran down the side of his face, but obviously did not interfere with the enjoyment of his meal.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Dean grunted and gestured toward the buffet. After a few minutes, Sam slid into the opposite booth with his plate of salad. "Please tell me it's not another shapeshifter?"

Sometimes these things had families and cohorts who sought revenge. Maybe it wasn't so smart coming back to this town before getting the lay of the land. But was Dean really crazy enough to try to take them on alone?

"Sam. Eat," Dean ordered through a mouth full of food.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Sam raked his fork absentmindedly through the lettuce. "Where were you this morning?"

"Out."

Sam speared a tomato and forced himself to chew and swallow.

"Had some stuff to take care of," Dean answered through his last mega mouthful of burger.

The truth was, he had slept in the car, but he wasn't about to admit to it.

"Cassie's fish died." Sam continued to eat, more out of habit than hunger.

"Marcus Harvey?"

"Garvey. He was a… never mind." Sam shook a little salt over his plate and surveyed the salad. Maybe he should have it packed to go. Dean would have a field day with that.

Dean sucked his teeth. "She loved that fucking fish."

"Yeah, I know. I helped her bury it." He forced down another bite.

"Oh. Cool."

Nicole, their waitress, was a pretty blonde. The kind of girl Dean usually went nuts for. She leaned on the edge of the table, batting her lashes shamelessly and asked, "You boys need anything else?"

"I'm good. You?" Dean asked Sam without really looking at her.

As she walked away Sam gawked, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

Sure, Dean had seen the girl. He wasn't dead. There were just more pressing matters on his mind. He threw a twenty on the table and started to get up. "Geek."

LAST NIGHT

 _It had been quite dark out by the time Cassie slipped from the bathroom. Unable to make himself let her go, Dean had followed her as far as the living room. Feeling needy and alone, he tried the locked doorknob before rubbing his hand pathetically down the bathroom door. Then he tapped lightly on it with his middle finger before compelling himself to back away_

 _By the time she came back out, he had gratefully regained some measure of self-control and felt like himself again. Her hair was damp and dripping onto the shoulders of a grey t-shirt dress that skimmed her knees. She slowly ran a wide-toothed comb through her locks as she declared,_ " _Okay. Water_ ' _s nice and hot. You're up._ "

 _Dean left his post by the entertainment center and gave a lecherous smile. He took the comb from her hand. She looked up into his eyes as he carefully stroked her head with his palm after each pass of the comb through her thick hair. Reveling in the familiar, tropical scent of her shampoo, he worked meticulously, like a small girl grooming a cherished doll. When he was done, he returned the comb and smirked._ " _I smell like you. I_ ' _m not washing that off until I have to._ "

 _She swallowed thickly and swayed slightly where she stood, feeling dizzy and warm. Already, again, her body ached for his touch, but Dean stepped away to drop the needle on the record he had left spinning. He closed his eyes and reveled in that holy vinyl scratch before the song began to play._

 _His lips pursed like Jagger as he nodded in time to the opening guitar riff of one of the greatest songs ever written. Lip syncing the words, he started a slow two-step toward her._ ' _Baby,_ _when I think about you, I think about looooove._ '

 _Cassie scratched her neck and looked away, trying not to let on how much she adored his antics._

 _Dean spun and began to sing out loud,_ " _And if I had those golden dreams_ …"

 _His voice wasn_ ' _t great, but he was really into it. On the word_ " _yesterday,_ " _he took her hand and drew her close. She laughed and let him have his way._

" _I feel like makin_ ' _."_ _Dean released her to get low with some funky air guitar._ " _Duh-dunt dun, duh-dunt dun. Duh-dunt dun._ "

 _His voice cracked on the high notes of the chorus, but he kept on singing and performing as if he was on stage in a stadium in front of forty thousand adoring fans._ " _Feel like making love to you._ "

 _When Paul Rodgers started crooning the second verse, Dean took his lady in his arms, mimicking the wisp of a memory of his dad with his mom. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek, still whispering the words against her neck. He couldn_ ' _t help bang his head just a little when the choruses rocked out so hard. Out of respect, he didn't speak a word until the guitar solo._ " _Yeah. Now_ this _is music._ "

" _What is this?_ " _Cassie thought the song wasn_ ' _t horrible._

 _Dean immediately stopped dancing and took a step back. They'd had countless moments like this back then. It was like they were from different planets. How had he managed to fall for a girl who didn't know this song?_ " _You_ ' _re kidding, right?_ "

 _She listened to a few more bars before shaking her head._

 _Dean didn_ ' _t even try to conceal his disappointment. He clasped his head against his forehead and sighed._ " _It was in your stuff. Bad Company. Straight Shooter. Come on, Cassie. Meet me halfway._ "

" _Oh. I got that from you. Remember?_ "

 _Now that she_ ' _d said it, he did remember. He_ ' _d bought it for her at a consignment store while she shopped for clothes. They'd listened to it that same night while making dinner over her hot plate._ " _Well, at least somebody in your life has good taste._ "

 _He pulled her close again, just enjoying the music and the feel of her small, warm body against his. Her slight curves so familiar. Just like back then, he couldn_ ' _t believe this exquisite creature belonged to him, even if only for the time being. Dean thought about saying something like that and figured it would come across all wrong. She_ ' _d start a speech about slavery or human trafficking. Instead, he let himself get swept up by the music._ " _What do you have that comes close to this?_ "

 _Cassie was ripped out of her own reverie, but she reached for a good answer._ " _Mmmm. Luther Vandross._ "

" _No way. God, no._ " _The thought of that whining made Dean_ ' _s balls shrivel just a little._

 _Cassie smiled. She had a very clear memory of Dean_ ' _s reaction the first time she had put on a little smooth jazz to set the mood. He had nearly curled himself into a ball and started weeping in agony._ " _Okay. Barry White,_ " _she tried again._

 _Dean weighed the suggestion with a back and forth tilt of his head. He had to admit, the guy had a kickass speaking voice. He could just imagine all the ladies dropping their panties on command of that voice. He did his best Barry White impression:_ " _Whatever whatever._ "

 _Cassie laughed and shoved him a little._

 _As_ " _Weep No More_ " _began to play, Dean picked up the pace of their dancing just a bit. He heard the lyrics in a way he hadn_ ' _t before._

 _ **I hear your voice in the wind**_

 _ **And I feel your tears in the rain**_

 _ **Shadows of night are falling**_

 _ **Can't you hear me call your name**_

 _Somehow, just being close with Cassie jolted up a long gone image of his dad playing guitar while both of his parents sang harmonies. How could he have forgotten that? Was it even real? So much of his life was just dark and cruel. But not this. This was pure goodness. This girl was going to be his salvation. Dean knew that, like he always had._

 _Cassie swayed easily with him, her wrists locked behind his neck. Dean looked at her mouth. Just looked at it. Girls were always going on about his lips, but Cassie had, by far, the most succulent mouth he had ever kissed. Full lips that made him hungry. Made him want to slow fuck her into eternity. Back then, she always used to wear chapstick that he thought was watermelon flavored. Mentioning that had started fight._

 _Dean slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of those sumptuous lips. His intention was to drive her crazy, to wind it up and make it last until she never wanted to let him go. Instead she pushed him away._ " _Shit._ "

" _What?_ " _Dean furrowed his brow, uncertain what he had done wrong._

" _I totally forgot. I have a deadline in two days. I haven't done a single thing. .. I don_ ' _t know why I thought I_ ' _d get anything done back home_ … _Shit._ "

" _How can I help?_ "

" _You can_ ' _t. Just let me work._ " _She peeled his hand from her arm._

 _A bitter twinge went through him, like a dagger twisting in his gut._

 _Sensing his disappointment, she touched his cheek._ " _I_ ' _m sorry._ "

" _No. No problem._ "

 _As she started from the room, his fist battered the record player. The disc splintered. Unable to stop himself, he viciously hammered and banged the machine with his bare hands like an enraged primate. Every time he brought his hand down, it was her face he saw in his mind. He imagined blood spurting from her broken nose, splattering on his face. Those perfect lips bursting. Eyes bulging as he pummeled her. Finally, he ripped the thing from the socket and threw it against the opposite wall. He was panting out his breath, wanting nothing more than to end Cassie as she stood stock still, staring at him._

 _Before she could think of something to say, he was barreling toward her, wordlessly shouting his frustration, reaching for her with both bloody hands out like Frankenstein_ ' _s monster. Cassie_ ' _s eyes grew wide as her sense of self preservation kicked in. She grabbed a lamp from the table beside the sofa and swung hard._

 _The pain and the cracking sound of the porcelain against his own skull stunned Dean enough to bring him to his senses. His hand trembled, still yearning to crush her. He stumbled back a step, then turned and ran from the apartment._


	7. Chapter 7

It only took a flick of Bryce's wrist to send the photo to the ground where the black plastic frame broke, but the transparent plastic stayed in tact. In the snapshot, they were at a restaurant. Dean's arm was slung around Cassie's shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face as she kissed his cheek. It was really a great shot. Sam had taken it that first night and given it to her framed.

"You did that on purpose."

"There are other hot fish in the sea, Cass," Bryce said.

"What is wrong with the men around here? Clean that up."

He obeyed, picking up the pieces and dumping everything, including the photo, in the kitchen trash. "I didn't want to say it."

"Then don't. Go home." She used her pointer finger to skim through the magazine. "Thanks for this. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"I don't trust that guy, Cassie."

"Then don't date him, Bryce."

"The brother doesn't seem too bad. Why don't you go for him?"

She cringed like he had said something truly disgusting. "Because brothers aren't interchangeable."

"He's…"

"We've been through this." Cassie circled a picture in her mag with a thick, black marker.

"You love him and that just makes everything okay?"

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"Because you know it's not right. He helped you, so he gets to hit you?"

"He didn't hit me," she corrected, although she knew it was a matter of semantics.

"You said yourself, he clearly wanted to."

Cassie closed the magazine. It was impossible to concentrate like this, not that she'd had much luck when Bryce wasn't there. "That's… I thought… I don't know what happened."

"He went psycho. Broke your record player. And your lamp."

"I broke the lamp." That was technically true.

"When he came after you? And he's been acting like a total freak ever since?"

"It was yesterday." And she hadn't seen him since.

"Volatile, violent, unpredictable. Dangerous." The gun made a low, heavy clunk when he sat it on the table.

Cassie didn't even see where it came from, but gawked between the handgun and where Bryce stood with his arms folded across his chest.

"Take that out of here."

"You know how to use it. Your dad kept guns, didn't he? To protect the house. He would want you to be safe."

She started to walk away, shaking her head, incredulous at the suggestion.

He stepped in front of her. "Cassie. Dean Winchester is a maniac. _At best._ You know I'm right. I don't know what he's into, but I can tell it's not … savory. I mean, what are he and his brother always doing in the trunk of that ridiculous car? I know you don't want to admit to yourself that he's trouble, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just take it. Put it somewhere."

"He would never hurt me." Even as Cassie spoke the words, she felt her own doubt.

"It would make me feel a lot better."

Finally, she cursed under her breath and snatched it from the table. She emptied the bullets into her left palm and dropped them into a potted plant. From where she stood, she searched for a good place to hide the gun. In the end, she put it on the top of her book shelf behind a photograph of her parents. "Happy?"

"I'd be even happier if it were loaded."

Dean had wanted very much not to see her, so when he saw her, he tried to pretend that he hadn't. Cassie sat on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table, furiously typing, when he struggled to enter the apartment with a new record player in his arms. She watched him set it up where the other one had been and plug it in. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did." Dean stood there for a long while, just looking at her.

He wanted to go over and sit down. To apologize and explain. Explain what, though? That he was either completely fucking out of his mind or that their relationship was cursed, like he'd known it was back then? He knew that she would believe him now, after the things she'd seen. But then what? He had no idea what was going on and no idea how to stop it, yet. When he knew, he'd fix it and everything would be good again.

"Are you going to keep running away from me, Dean?"

He scoffed, shook his head, giving her a look like she was crazy for thinking that and promptly fled the apartment.

Sam stumbled from the guest room, dragging a hand through his messy hair before massaging his lower back. He wasn't going to complain about the futon, but it really wasn't long enough or comfortable enough to qualify as a bed. He'd been laying on the floor staring at the ceiling for the two nights since they'd been in Cassie's apartment. Getting up to stretch his muscles, he found their hostess on the sofa in the dark living room. The only light was from the computer screen in her lap that cast an eerie glow on her solemn face.

She heard him but didn't look up from what she was doing.

"You're up early."

"Late." Her fingers flew over the keyboard, clicking away as she continued her rapid-fire typing.

"You are going to sleep, right?"

"Theoretically possible, when I get this done. My own fault for putting it off." She treated herself to a sip from the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table. Without looking up, she added, "Have you heard from your brother?"

"He's not here?"

Cassie pursed her lips, sorry she'd asked.

"He's probably…" Sam stopped short. He had no idea where Dean could be at this hour. He'd been acting so weird lately, Sam didn't even know what to speculate. Grasping for a change in subject, he gestured at the laptop. "What are you working on?"

She gave an exaggerated shiver, "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't stand people reading over my shoulders. Come sit down or something."

"Do you mind?" He took a seat next to her on the sofa and leaned over slightly to take a peek at the screen. Sam read aloud, "Condi Rice's Make-Up Faux Pas."

"Not exactly intellectually stimulating, but it pays the bills. You would be amazed how many people actually give a shit about this kind of thing."

Sam shrugged, "Who am I to judge? You've seen what I do for a living. Besides, your piece on Jimmy Soames was… inspiring."

Cassie stopped what she was doing and looked at him for the first time since he joined her, "You read it?"

"Made me wish I'd known the man. Hey, you got a little…" His hand moved toward her face, but stopped short of actually making contact.

Cassie touched one of her own fingers to the crumb on her cheek. She smiled, a little embarrassed. "Oh. Thanks. There are danish in the fridge, if you want."

After a moment, when Sam hadn't moved, she glanced up at him. "Do you need anything, Sam?"

"I'm bothering you? I can go back…" He jerked his thumb toward the room and started to stand.

"It's okay. I could use a break." She rubbed her eyes for a moment and closed the notebook. Suddenly, they were sitting in the dark. They both laughed awkwardly as she opened the computer again to return the faint light. "I don't know how you guys do what you do and remain sane."

"For one thing, I would never say we were sane."

Cassie snickered. Their eyes met for a moment. It was too warm, too intimate. Instantly diffusing the heat in her chest, Cassie put on her most matronly smile. "You need tea."

She sat the computer between them on the couch and stood.

"No, I'm all right. I didn't mean to bother you."

She called over her shoulder. "It's no bother and I won't take no for an answer. It's amazing stuff. Sit back down. I'll bring it to you."

The first thing she did was flick on an overhead light.

Obediently, Sam settled at the small, round dining table where the fish tank had been. Curious, he stroked the leaves of one of the succulent plants that were arranged neatly in small white pots. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She tapped the button on the electronic kettle and it started a low hum.

"What's with all the tea?"

Cassie bowed her head and chuckled.

Sam laughed, too, relieved that she wasn't offended. "Don't get me wrong. It's nice. I just haven't drunken as much tea in my life as in the last two weeks since we've met. Did you study a semester in England or something?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's just this organic, imported stuff I started drinking in college. I basically couldn't live without it." She pulled down a mug from an upper cabinet and showed it to him.

Sam read out loud, "World's Greatest Kid. From your dad?"

Cassie nodded and bit on her lower lip for a moment. The psychologist bill was going to be enormous when she finally processed everything she'd been through. Once again, she shoved down the emotion.

She scooped a spoonful of the dark green powder from a steel canister into Sam's mug and delivered it, on a saucer, directly to his hands. "Voila."

"Mercí." Sam smiled and looked down at his drink. He was concerned that he might be flirting and definitely didn't mean to be.

"If you don't like it, you don't have to…"

"No, I do. I…" He admired the mug and turned it to find a name written on the back. "Cassiopeia? Really? Like the constellation?"

Cassie laughed and nodded. "There are not very many people who know that. My dad was quite the amateur astronomer. If I'd have had a brother, they would have named him Orion."

Sam smiled, "So, does that mean if we go outside right now you could impress me with your knowledge of the night sky?"

"If we went outside right now, we'd be lucky if we could see the moon. It's better at my parents place. I'll wow you next time we're out there."

"I'm already wowed." Okay, Sam knew that he was definitely flirting. ' _Don_ ' _t be a dick, Sam,_ ' he thought to himself and had a whiff of the steam blowing off the cup. The smell of it was slightly pungent, but it did relax him. It took his mind off the curve of Cassie's fingers around her own mug.

"Now, you know. Let me guess … you're actually Samson."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. It's Samuel. After my grandfather."

"Or Sammy."

He winced. "I really don't like to be called that."

She laughed again and hung her head. "I noticed."

"Yeah, and Dean says it constantly."

They both laughed. Cassie swallowed a warm swig before suggesting, "If you ever want to get him back, call him Dino."

"Dino?" Sam grimaced.

"Yeah. He hates it." She snickered to herself, remembering the priceless look on his face when Sal, the guy who owned the pool hall off campus, had called Dean that.

"Noted." Sam would definitely make use of that one.

Cassie headed back to her laptop on the sofa. "You're welcome."

Sam spun on his chair to watch her. Maybe the tea had loosened him up, but he didn't seem to be able to stop talking. "Hey, Cassie. If you don't mind, I'm just kind of curious about something."

"You're curious about a lot of things, apparently."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess so. I'm just wondering, how much do you know about our family?"

"How do I answer that question? Whatever Dean told me, I know."

Sam nodded. "That's what I mean. I can't imagine what he must have told you. It's like pulling teeth, getting him to talk at all. At least to me."

Cassie tried to think of everything Dean had told her then and now. "Well, about you… I know you were in college when we met. Stanford, right? He was really proud of you. Still is. The way he talks about you."

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Are we talking about the same person?"

"And totally infuriated."

"Now, that sounds right." He took a careful sip.

"And he worships your dad."

Sam pursed his lips and let her continue.

"But you don't."

"No comment."

She smiled.

He caved immediately. "Completely off the record. I love my family, but I … sometimes, I think I'm cut from a different cloth.

Cassie considered that for a moment. "You know, I always wondered what it'd be like to have a sibling. Like now, it'd be great to have someone to help me check in on my mom."

"It probably would depend on who that sibling is." Sam didn't want to say too much and he probably just had.

"You and Dean get along, don't you?"

"Surprisingly, most of the time, we do. I mean, I trust him with my life."

"Yeah. I do, too. Which is odd, considering…" Cassie clipped the statement, already having gone further than she'd intended.

"Considering what?"

She shook her head. If Dean wanted to discuss what went on between them with his brother, he most certainly could. Cassie was not going to do it. She wouldn't even have known where to start.

Sam held up a finger. "Another question."

"Okay. I think you're down to seventeen, though."

He smiled and nodded, "That poem in the bathroom, with the pressed flowers. That's Dean's handwriting, isn't it?" He didn't mention the little cloth pouch he'd found stashed under the bathroom sink. At first, Sam had been concerned that someone was hexing Cassie, but a quick smell test revealed angelica root and van van oil were among the ingredients. Sam deduced that it was part of Dean's due diligence in protecting the place.

Cassie grinned, remembering the day, _back then_ , when she had found the hand-whittled wooden frame on her desk. "Astute observation, counsel. He didn't write the poem, though."

"I know. It's, uh, Langston Hughes, isn't it? Song for Lucinda?"

Now, she was officially impressed and didn't bother trying to conceal it. "You are full of surprises, Sam."

He felt his face warm at Cassie's approval. "My girlfriend turned me onto his work. She was really into him. I would have thought Dean was allergic to poetry. And did he actually press those flowers?"

She nodded. Dean had given her that a few days after moving into her tiny room. Even after he was gone, it was too beautiful to toss. It was one of the few keepsakes she had kept from their whirlwind time together. That, and apparently, the record that she had never listened to.

Sam was still doing the math in his head. Dean always went after gorgeous women, so that was no surprise. But usually, his brother got his physical gratification with vacuous bimbos and then he was on his way. Cassie was amazing in ways that reminded Sam of Jess: assiduous, passionate, smart. Not that Dean wasn't great in his own ways, but these two just didn't seem like a match. However, like Dean had told him time and again, it wasn't his business. "Question sixteen."

"I get _my_ twenty when you're done." Cassie held the computer on her lap, but didn't open it yet.

Sam snickered, "Deal. How on earth did you two meet?"

"Dean didn't tell you?"

As if. "His version was basically three words."

Cassie finished her tea before beginning. "Well, the AASU…"

"African American Student Union?" Sam made sure he knew what she was talking about. A few of his friends had been in the club, but he didn't know much about it.

"Yeah. We were having our annual fish fry…"

Dean had followed the free food. That made sense.

 _BACK THEN_

 _Dean had been questioning college students for hours when he saw the poster for a free fish dinner. Never a man to miss out on an opportunity to mix business and pleasure, he followed the sign into a room full of outstanding smells, live jazz and African Americans engaged in animated conversation. It was a pretty relaxed atmosphere except for all the heads that turned to watch as he made his way over to the buffet._

 _He nodded and waved at people he didn't know, chalking even the most malicious stares up to curiosity. He wasn_ ' _t here to fight. He was here to eat._

" _Am I cool to be here, sir?_ "

 _The older man behind the table who was doling out green beans nodded,_ " _All are welcome, brother. Help yourself._ "

" _Awesome._ " _Dean surveyed the room while he hummed his approval at the incredible burst of flavors in his mouth._

 _Once he was done, he returned the plate with a hearty dose of gratitude and began approaching people with his photograph of the maimed professor._

 _There was at least one other guy, one with fair skin, who stood out in this crowd. He was talking to a serious looking, seriously hot brown girl with curls nearly to her ass. Dean had no trouble admitting to himself that the guy was attractive, in that Mediterranean way: pitch black hair and dark features, like his dad. He was a worthy opponent for this girl_ ' _s attention._

 _Good food, hot girl and all on the clock. Had to love this job. Now, if only it paid._

 _Dean assessed the situation. The girl and the guy were standing close, facing each other. The girl stole a piece a fruit from the guy_ ' _s plate. That suggested intimacy, but the distance between them made Dean suspect that the guy was stuck firmly in the friend zone._

 _Game on._

 _If Bryce had been thinking clearly, he would have known that the worst thing he could do was try to control Cassie. But he was, understandably, on edge, afraid to mess this up. He gripped the young woman by the arm,_ " _Don't talk to him. He looks like trouble._ "

 _She looked the new guy over. He seemed almost drunk with confidence, a huge smile splitting his undeniably handsome face. It was the kind of face, he was the kind of guy, that a lot of girls probably went for. Usually, Cassie would have been utterly turned off by his strut, but Bryce_ ' _s order was like a direct challenge. She took an imperceptible step forward and offered her hand,_ " _Cassie Robinson. This is my associate._ "

" _Cassie._ " _Dean kissed the back of her hand with his fish-greasy lips._

 _She laughed, mainly because Bryce was beside himself with irritation. His eyes were wide and unblinking watching the exchange. A hand clasped him on the shoulder. Sweaty and startled, Bryce hesitated and let himself be dragged into another conversation, never taking his eyes from Cassie and Dean._

 _Dean couldn't have been better served if he had orchestrated the distraction himself,_ " _What_ ' _s with your friend? He looks constipated._ "

 _Cassie shrugged,_ " _I guess you make him nervous._ "

 _Somehow, that comment reminded Dean of the case and he held out his photo for her to see. After all, he was here to work. She recognized the prof. She knew his name, but not his field. It was soon clear that Cassie Robinson didn't have any useful intel. It was also clear to Dean that he wanted her._ " _If you think of anything else._ "

 _Cassie examined the business card he had handed her. He definitely didn_ ' _t seem like FBI._

 _Dean pulled a small pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket._ " _And I'm going to need your number. In case I have any more questions. Like if something occurs to me in the middle of the night. You know, on second thought, maybe it's just best if you were somewhere I can put my hands on you at all times._ "

 _Cassie tilted her head,_ " _You can't possibly think that_ ' _s appropriate conduct. And shouldn't you have a partner? How about we come to an agreement, Agent_ … _Richards?_ " _She read the name from the card._ " _I won't call your superior and tell them you're being a creep on duty and you tell me what this is investigation is all about._ "

 _Dean was actually amused by her threat, especially since she_ ' _d just be calling his father._ " _How about we sweeten the deal with drinks?_ "

" _I don_ ' _t drink._ "

" _Then, coffee._ "

" _I don_ ' _t drink coffee._ "

" _Who doesn_ ' _t drink coffee?_ " _He asked, incredulous. This was never going to work out._

" _Is this still part of the interrogation?_ " _Cassie folded her arms over her chest._

 _There was something about this girl, if only the thrill of the chase._ " _All right. I saw a pool hall coming into town. How about we go shoot a few rounds?_ " _It would give him a chance to show off a little, maybe cozy up behind her, show her how to hold the stick._

" _You want to shoot pool?_ " _She smirked._

 _He grinned wolfishly,_ " _Sure. I don't bite. And maybe I'll be less of a creep when I'm off duty._ "

" _I really doubt it._ "

 _As it turned out, this girl was good at pool. Crazy good. Run-for-Dean_ ' _s-money good. And she had hustled him: not for money, but she had pretended not to know how to play. She let him spend twenty minutes explaining how to bank a shot. Then, she had proceeded to best him not once, but three out of seven games._

 _While they played, she had interrogated him about his investigation until Dean figured out that she was a journalism major, itching for a bleeding lead._

 _By the end of the night, she let him walk her back to her dorm, but hadn_ ' _t given him so much as a peck on the cheek. His typical MO would have been to chalk her up as a difficult waste of time. Instead, he heard himself ask,_ " _Can we do this again sometime?_ "

" _I don_ ' _t know, Agent Richards. This was a business meeting for me. And not a very fruitful one._ "

" _Just hang out. Exchange notes._ " _Dean was shocked at himself. He was seriously asking for a second date from a girl who hadn_ ' _t put out._

 _Cassie had to admit that she had enjoyed herself. He wasn_ ' _t just a face. He was warm and silly and really easy to talk to._ " _Maybe next weekend._ "

 _Dean_ ' _s heart sank a little._ " _I_ ' _m not sure I_ ' _ll be around that long._ "

 _She looked him over, sizing him up and thought,_ ' _what the hell._ ' " _I_ ' _m assigned to review a concert on campus tomorrow night. It would be a weird coincidence if we both happen to be there. Wouldn_ ' _t it?_ "

 _Dean was a twenty-oneyear-old music lover who had never been to a concert. He was a grown man who hadn't gone out with the same girl twice since he was sixteen. He told himself, the key to success in life was to remain cool. The cool thing would be to stop glancing over at her, but he couldn_ ' _t help himself. At least half of the time, he found her smiling back at him, then, shaking her head. It made her curls bounce in the most adorable way, which made his stomach flip in a decidedly uncool way._

 _They sat in the Impala under a streetlamp with the heater blasting warm air on their feet while they talked about everything from music to movies to politics. There was a lot of laughing, more shouting and almost no common ground between them. Cassie was as strictly old school R &B as Dean was unbendingly classic rock. The only thing they saw eye to eye on was that most pop music sucked and that the band that night had been shit except for the one Prince cover. _

_She had gotten worked up over social issues, especially involving minorities and women and was incensed at his lack of knowledge and involvement. He had sat with his chin on his fist and listened to her regale, thinking that he had never seen anything more enchanting in his life. Dean watched her mouth, missing most of the words. He wanted to kiss her so badly his own lips buzzed._

 _Finally, Cassie looked at him and seemed to realize he was staring. She covered her nose and mouth with her fingers for a moment. "Do I have something in my teeth?"_

 _"No." He laughed, "No. Just…"_ ' _In love with you, I think._ ' _He didn't say it, but it freaked him out to be thinking it._

 _Suddenly uncomfortable, she rested her hand on the door handle,_ " _Well, Agent Richards_ … _"_

" _It's Dean._ "

 _She looked at him. She had already promised herself and Bryce that she was not going to go out with this guy again. He was good-looking and easygoing, but not anybody you let yourself develop real feelings for. He was the kind of guy a sorority girl might fuck after drinking too much and then forget about._

" _Winchester … Richards is a … Sometimes, we assume false identities to protect … when… Actually, I'm not FBI. I'm actually… I'm a hunter._ " _The truth just tumbled out of his mouth._

 _Cassie_ ' _s eyes grew wide at the admission. She had known when she met him that he wasn_ ' _t FBI._ " _A hunter?_ "

 _Dean quickly caught himself._ " _Bounty. Hunter. You know … Guys skip bail and we, my dad and I, we track them down and cuff 'em and_ …" _He made himself stop talking._

 _She cocked her head, doubtful._ " _You telling me that Professor Mendoza skipped bail?_ "

" _No. He … Might have had some information. It's not important._ " _The tangled web of lies and truths he was weaving was going to trap him if he wasn_ ' _t careful._

" _You're very strange, you know that?_ "

" _I'm also cute._ " _Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows, angling for a laugh._

 _She didn_ ' _t even crack a smile._ " _No. You're not cute._ "

" _Ouch._ " _Despite his best efforts, Dean was offended._

" _You_ ' _re_ … _not cute._ " _He was irresistible. A rush of warmth ran through her entire body and she reached for the door again._

" _Cassie._ "

 _Suddenly, she barked back at him._ " _You do this on every case, don_ ' _t you? Pick up some girl and try to make her fall for you. Sportsman, right?_ "

" _No._ " _He was stunned by her sudden attack. The truth was, he was always looking for a chance to get laid. This already felt like something else._

 _She could feel herself beginning to capitulate and cursed under her breath._ " _What's the point? You said yourself you don_ ' _t even know how long you_ ' _re in town._ "

" _So, you gonna pass up a chance at a good time just because it's going to end?_ "

" _Why even start something up with a guy if I know it_ ' _s not going anywhere?_ " _She asked herself out loud._

" _Why go to Disney World if you can_ ' _t move in?_ " _Dean thought it was a good counterargument. He should have been a lawyer. Sammy would be proud._

 _Cassie cocked her head, trying not to be amused._ " _Are you comparing yourself to Disney World?_ "

" _I am one hell of a ride._ " _Again, Dean was mostly joking. Not that he didn't want to get her in bed. Mostly, he just wanted to see her again. No strings._

 _She huffed and shook her head._ " _Good night, Agent._ " _Unlike most of her friends, she_ ' _d been able to keep her college regrets to a minimum. She forced herself out of the car to keep it that way._

 _He stood up out of his door and called after her._ " _It's Dean._ "

 _She didn't even turn around. He had stared up at the building for an embarrassingly long time, knowing that she was in there somewhere. Reading, answering emails, writing her review, showering, brushing all that hair, getting ready for bed._

 _During the course of their conversation, Cassie had gone over a day in the life of a student for him. He couldn_ ' _t believe he had actually found it interesting enough to remember. Or that he found her interesting enough to wake up that frigging early._

 _The next morning at 7:30, Dean was out there, at what felt like the ass crack of dawn, when she walked out of the building with a friend. The other girl gave him the most lurid gaze he_ ' _d gotten in a while. He didn't know whether to say 'good morning' or file a sexual harassment suit. She whispered something to Cassie that could not have been polite and spun twice to look at him again as she walked away._

" _You make an impression, don_ ' _t you?_ " _Cassie hugged her arms around her books._

" _I feel a little dirty._ " _He shuddered a little. Not that the other girl was unattractive, but Dean felt weird about being put on display like that in front of Cassie. And then, he felt even stranger about feeling weird about it._

 _She began to walk briskly, presumably toward her class, definitely away from Dean._

 _Cassie knew she had just the right amount of time to get there and that did not include shooting the shit with Agent Dean Richards Winchester or whatever his name was._

 _He kept pace alongside her._

" _Are you stalking me, Agent?_ "

 _He winced._ " _Would you stop calling me that? I told you my name._ "

 _She smiled, but didn_ ' _t slow or look at him._

" _Here._ " _He handed her the steaming cup he had been holding by one of those stupid cardboard grips._

" _What is this?_ "

" _Tea._ " _He raised his brow as she held it to her nose._

" _Peppermint._ "

 _He nodded._ " _Did I do good?"_

 _Cassie stopped long enough to have a small, scalding sip. She had gotten in so late last night, after talking with him until the wee hours, that she_ ' _d overslept and subsequently, skipped breakfast. This would tide her over until she could grab a bite._ " _Thank you._ "

 _He pumped his fist in the air and she laughed._

 _Throwing her own caution and Bryce_ ' _s constant nagging to the wind, she asked,_ " _When do you leave?_ "

 _"When the job is done." Too soon, he was sure. It was like he was in a different world with Cassie: a different universe, where all the spooky shit couldn_ ' _t touch him._

" _I have class, then work, then, I need to study. If you want to meet up afterwards, for dinner or something._ "

" _That would be awesome._ " _He knew he had said the words too soon to sound cool, but it didn't matter._

 _Cassie smiled a little, perched up on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. "See you later. Agent."_

 _His lungs and his feet stopped functioning properly, as all of the warmth in his body seemed to pool around the spot where her mouth had barely touched. It felt so pure and innocent, as if he had never been kissed in his life._

 _She turned around backwards to correct herself,_ " _Dean._ "

 _Then, she jogged off, leaving a minty haze behind her._

Sam couldn't help smiling. It was a sweet story. He could definitely see how they were a classic case of opposites attracting. "One more question. I swear, this is the last one. I know it's not my business, but what's with you and Bryce? He seems very … interested in you."

She got up to get herself a refill. "I should hope so. He's my best friend."

"Just friends?" Sam raises an eyebrow, thinking the guy would be crazy not to make a move on her. "You don't think he … Bryce is… You know … looking for more? With you, I mean?" Sam held his nose over the steam, still watching Cassie's reactions closely.

"Definitely not. And not for lack of trying on my part." She laughed to herself.

"What do you mean?" He shifted a little in his seat.

"Since you want to know everything, I met Bryce at the AASU my first year at Ohio."

Sam had assumed that Bryce's heritage was Latin or southern European, but if the club had let his brother in, there'd be no issue in any case.

"You saw him. He looks like Enrique Iglesias or something. My girlfriends were all giggling like a bunch of middle schoolers. I just asked him out."

Sam huffed. "Just like that?"

She shrugged.

"Like I said: fearless." He had already made that observation to Dean earlier. If there was any woman who could stomach what they did for a living, this was the one.

"What?"

"Nothing." Sam smelled his tea, again.

Cassie went on. "So, we went to this club and unlike most guys I've ever gone out with, he was not only willing to dance, he never wanted to stop. And he was the best dancer I have ever met. Have you ever seen Dean dance?"

"Yeah. It's awful." Sam laughed.

Cassie joined him. "Exactly. Like most guys."

Sam leaned in and whispered like it is the world's biggest secret. "Don't tell my brother this, but I can dance. My girlfriend made me take lessons and I'm not bad."

"What? You mean like ballroom, Dancing With the Stars?" She had a hard time imagining this huge man lumbering across the dance floor.

"Everything. Waltz, Salsa, Tango, Lambada. It was really, very excruciating. Physically and mentally."

They both laughed.

Cassie could understand why Sam didn't want Dean to know. He would never let Sam live that down. She, on the other hand, was fully intrigued. "You are going to have to demonstrate that sometime."

He raised his mug as if to toast and nodded before he had a sip.

"So, how does that work, with you and your girlfriend and being on the road with Dean?" Cassie subdued a tiny, but completely inappropriate prick of envy at the fact that Sam had someone. She had Dean, so that was stupid.

But, did she really have Dean? Where the hell was he? Why was he acting like such a freak? Again. It didn't matter. She was not going to think anything of Dean's little brother other than that he was an interesting person. And nice to talk to. And obviously, very inquisitive.

Sam weighed his words carefully, "Well, it probably wouldn't have worked out, but she's… gone, so…"

"Oh. Sam. I'm sorry." Cassie hadn't expected that. She sat back in her chair.

"Not your fault." He shrugged and tried to smile. It felt false, so he retreated into his cup.

She tried to think of what to say. "What was her name?"

"Jessica." Sam barely breathed it.

"Poetry. Dancing. She sounds like my kind of girl." Cassie hated when people back home tried to skirt the fact that her dad had passed. So, she did the opposite. "When did she…How?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "Is it all right if we talk about something else?"

With the dreams and hallucinations, he didn't want to do more to conjure Jess' image. At least that was what he told himself. Not that he felt strange talking about Jessica with Cassie, like he was somehow being disloyal.

Cassie nodded, "Of course. Um. Bryce, right? I'm sorry you saw his … rude side. He is crazy fun most of the time."

"You'll have to forgive me for noticing. It seems like you guys are really close. How do you know he's not interested in you?" Sam reminded himself that he was inquiring on Dean's behalf.

They weren't her beans to spill, but it's not like it was any great secret. "I'm not proud of this, but I kind of threw myself at him that first time we hung out. He looked right at me and said something to the effect of 'You're a great girl, Cass, and I would totally go for you if only I was straight.'"

Sam's eyes widened just for an instant, "Oh. So, I guess Dean doesn't have anything to worry about, then."

She smiled down at her mug. "Not a thing."


	8. Chapter 8

Bryce waved a huge, black feather through the smoke rising from the cast iron bowl between his bare legs. Only a bone and some leaves were still discernible among the ash. He added a long, curly lock of black hair. Then, he smeared the cinders down one side of his face and the other. Finally, he puckered his lips and blew the remaining residue into the air.

The Impala was a great car, but a hell of an uncomfortable place to sleep. All Dean wanted in the world was to lay down next to Cassie, wrap his arms around her, listen to her talk about her boring ass day.

After the first outburst, Dean had resolved not to go back into that apartment. He couldn't bring himself to even face her until he could be sure it wouldn't happen again, even if it meant going to a fucking shrink, which is what he was starting to think was necessary.

Without giving away anything, he had gone so far as to call her mother and ask about past boyfriends. For obvious reasons, Mrs. Robinson had sounded concerned when he asked if there was any domestic abuse in Cassie's history. Her answer had been just what he'd expected. "No. No way. Cassie would never let any man treat her that way."

He'd asked a few more questions to try and discover whether there was a past lover who might hex her or a deceased love who might haunt her—following up on his suspicions from _back then_. He'd even whispered "Christo" to himself and felt like an idiot, because, of course, he wasn't possessed. He would fucking know if he was possessed.

If there was something paranormal going on, it left no traces, no echoes or fingerprints for him to follow. The only thing that seemed touched at all was Dean, himself. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was losing his fucking mind where Cassie was concerned.

Dean twisted and turned in the back seat and tried to pull the scratchy army blanket over himself in a way that would keep him warm and keep the light from the streetlamp out of his eyes. As soon as it was over his sock feet, it was off his face. When he yanked it back over his head, his feet were uncovered and frigging cold. Finally, he covered his feet and threw his jacketed arm over his eyeballs with a sigh.

His hard earned moment of peace was broken by a loud thump. Thinking a branch had fallen on his car, his eyes popped open. As he sat up, another thud was closely followed by another one on the roof. "What the fuck?"

Dean pulled a handgun from under the seat and wiped the condensation down the window to look directly into the huge, brown eyes of a deer. His heart lurched in his chest as he shouted and scuttled until his back was pressed against the middle of the seat. He panted loudly, composing himself. He was actually better prepared to deal with something evil. This was wildlife. "All right, Bambi."

Finally, he opened the driver's side door and yelled, waving his arms frantically, "Shoo. Get out of here. Scat."

The deer regarded him once before scampering off. Satisfied with his animal wrangling skills, Dean looked up and let his mouth fall open.

He was surrounded by raccoons, foxes, opossums and every other type of fucking wild animal he could imagine. There were even a few creatures that he couldn't identify. They were on, then, scrabbling around inside of his car: a wriggling mass of fur and claws clamoring over each other.

He kicked some kind of weasel thing that was scraping at his leg. He aimed his gun into the backseat. "Out. Out now, or else. I'm sorry, Baby." He squeezed the trigger and animal blood splattered on the upholstery and the windows.

He swore and turned to target the other animals as they ran away.

"That's right, you fuckers." He bellowed once more like a triumphant and half-crazed, heavily armed Neanderthal.

'Every new day carries its own legacy.' It was the word of encouragement of the day on Cassie's desktop calendar.

Invigorated, but running late, she poured her tea into a travel mug and took along a toasted bagel wrapped in a paper towel. Her phone rang while she was on her way to the door. She squeezed it between her ear and shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and flew out of the apartment. She opted to take the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator, which tended to be slow.

Bryce's voice sang in her ear, "Morning, Sunshine."

"Morning."

"What are you wearing?"

She looked down at her own pants suit and straightened her jacket. "The grey one."

"Good. You kill in that. Call me right after."

She hung up the phone and slipped it into the back pocket of the briefcase beside her meager breakfast. Out of the front door and halfway to her car, she was surprised to find Sam in workout gear, stretching. "Hey."

Dean had a naturally nice body: neither skinny nor bulky. Just right. Sam was totally built in a way Cassie hadn't noticed before. Now, she couldn't help but be aware, finding him in sweats and a simple grey T-shirt, instead of all the layers of clothes that he and his brother favored. She diverted her eyes, pretending to watch the traffic. "You coming or going?"

"Just got back." Sam lifted his left foot to his glutes. He would rather have not noticed the way Cassie was failing at not looking at him. It made him want to flex like some kind of brainless muscle head and he wasn't like that, usually. He just liked to keep fit: healthy body, happy body.

"You know, we have a gym… don't know if you, you know… I can show you when I get back." It was fully obvious that Sam put a lot of effort into looking the way he did.

"Oh, yeah. That'd be great." Since they had arrived in St. Louis, Sam had been suffering an acute case of cabin fever and various other forms of restlessness. He was grateful for any opportunity to work off some steam. "Oh, and I went past the library… they were having a sale… thought this might help start to shed some light on what we do." Sam picked up and handed her the book he had put on the ground to do his stretching.

Cassie ran her palm over the slightly tattered, black, leather-bound book. There was a silver pentagram embossed on the cover. She looked up at him, "Thank you, Sam. Any word from Dean?"

"Um, not yet." Now, he was lying for his brother. This was getting out of hand.

"Is this normal, for him?" Her brow was furrowed with worry.

Sam shook his head and gave the best answer he could without giving away too much. "Dean's not normal. You should know that."

She smiled and nodded. "Well, I'm ... right on time, so…"

"You'll knock 'em out."

She waved. "Thanks."

Sam watched her drive off, trying to ignore that sassy, little bounce to her step. Once he was sure she was gone, he strode a couple of blocks, straight to the Impala and knocked hard on the window.

Dean sat up with one eye barely open, unable to crack the other. He grimaced against the sunlight, but rolled down the window. "She gone?"

Sam was doing his best to contain his temper, but this was too much. His nostrils flared. "What are you doing? We're here for you. So you and Cassie can…" He threw his hand up, not even sure what he had expected his brother to do: certainly not camp out in the car and leave Sam alone with her.

"Is she gone or what, Sam?"

"Did you guys have a fight? This is not how you deal with that, man." Sam knew Dean had pretty much zero relationship experience, but hiding out was pitiful. And it was creating other problems.

Dean slammed the door to the car and started hauling his tired ass back towards Cassie's building. After firing off the gunshots, he'd driven off and found a Walmart parking lot where he could clean out his poor, blood splattered baby.

Sam stood his ground. "Look, I can't do this anymore."

"What?" Dean turned to glare at his bratty kid brother who was, once again, making everything about himself.

"I can't stay here. I'm leaving. Soon. Like tomorrow, maybe." What Sam thought, but didn't say was: _I_ ' _m attracted to your girlfriend. Not a little bit. Like, a lot and it_ ' _s not cool._

"All right." Dean scrubbed at the stubble on his face. He had never given up on a case in his life without a direct order from his dad. But this wasn't a case. It was … he had no business with Cassie anyway. Maybe this whole thing was just his own fucked up way of telling himself that.

' _What about the animals? That couldn_ ' _t be nothing._ ' He shoved the question down and repeated, "All right."

"All right, what?"

"All right. We're done here." Dean nodded, feeling more relieved the more he thought about leaving.

Cassie fucked with his head. It wasn't intentional, but being with her was too difficult. It clouded his judgment and made him do things he didn't mean to do. He needed to get away from her and Sam was giving him an out.

"No, Dean. That's not what I mean. I mean, I'll go, on my own. Maybe back west. We can meet when something comes up."

Dean shook his head. "You go, I go."

"Dean." Sam should have seen that reaction coming. His brother was not cut out for a relationship and it was probably for the best that they leave before things got out of hand. "All right. Tomorrow. But don't sleep in the car tonight. Say a proper goodbye."


	9. Chapter 9

Bryce's chants were so vigorous that a fine sweat broke out over his naked body. He grimaced, as if in pain, rocking back and forth as he slowly drained the blood from a snake into a bowl.

In the middle of the night, Sam sat bolt upright where he had been sleeping on the floor: hair plastered to his head, t-shirt stuck to the sweat on his chest. He gasped for air and tossed off the blanket.

Across the hall, he could hear Cassie's garbled shouts, rhythmically intermingled with Dean's grunts. Heat spread across his chest and into his groin. He stared at the door and mouthed the word, "Fuck."

Shortly before dawn, Cassie stumbled from her bedroom. Sam was already seated at the kitchen table. She pulled her silk robe more tightly around her and crossed her arms over her chest. Feeling awkward for no apparent reason, he started to stand, but stayed seated. "Dean?"

"He's still asleep."

He nodded and found he couldn't stop himself. His hands wrung together nervously. "I really need to talk to him."

"Do you want me to wake him up?" There was none of the usual kindness in her voice.

Sam chalked it up to the early hour. "Uh … no." He lied.

Cassie made her way across the room and tried to sound indifferent, "So, you guys are hitting the road today?"

"Um…" He huffed a fake laugh. "Did Dean say that?"

"Yeah. Said your father called."

"Oh. Yeah." Sam was still nodding and feeling like a bigger moron by the moment.

Without another word, Cassie vanished into the bathroom. She didn't know what was with these boys and their father and she was determined not to care.

Sam had been up for hours. He couldn't wait anymore. He charged into Cassie's room; the air was thick with the smell of sex. Warmth washed over him, followed by a pang of jealousy. He ignored it and shook his brother by the shoulders until Dean's face crunched up in annoyance. His eyes reluctantly started to flutter open. "What?"

"Did Dad really call?" If he had, his timing couldn't be worse.

"What?" Dean's morning muddled brain tried to make sense of his brother's words.

"Cassie said…"

Finally, Dean leaned up on his elbows. "No. I had to tell her something."

Sam sighed, relieved that they didn't have to deal with their father at the moment. "We need to talk."

"OK." Dean dropped himself back down with his eyes closed, committed to continue sleeping while his dorky little brother talked.

Sam ripped the blanket off and turned his head away, not needing an eyeful of his brother's morning wood. "Dean. Get up. Now."

"Aw, fuck." Very slowly, not unlike a zombie, Dean sat up and pulled on his clothes while Sam paced as if he was trying to wear a path in the carpet.

When Dean headed for the bathroom where the shower was running, Sam stood in his way. "No. Now."

Dean gestured to the door. "I got to piss."

"No time."

Dean grumbled. "No time to piss?"

"No. Let's go." Sam grabbed the keys to the apartment that Cassie had loaned him and corralled his brother down the steps. Once they were outside, he prodded his groggy brother into the park across the street.

Before they had gotten very far, Dean stopped and relieved himself against a tree. Once his pants were closed again, he looked at Sam with slowly blinking eyes, "All right. I'm all ears, you nutcase."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it."

"Spit it out." Dean sniffed, sleepily.

"We can't leave. I mean, I could. But you can't." He paced, nervously.

"Sam, fucking be still and tell me what's going on." He scratched his ear and yawned.

Sam had no idea how his brother would take his revelation. He searched the park for a good segue: a woman jogged by, a group of men were playing soccer. There were herds of kids at a playground. Sam pretended to watch them when actually his attention was solely focused on Dean.

Dean looked at Sam impatiently, then did an about face, walking back toward the apartment. "Dude, I need coffee."

A Frisbee nearly took Dean's head off. Reflexes sharp, even half asleep, he ducked. Then, he picked it up and searched the clearing for its owner.

It couldn't have been more perfect if Sam had cast the moment himself. A little boy ran over to retrieve it. He apologized and thanked Dean sweetly before returning to his game with his dad. By the time Dean was standing upright again, he was wearing an almost smitten expression.

Sam smiled at the cosmic nod. He had the kid pegged at about four or five, but he had absolutely nothing to go on. He liked kids, but had practically no experience with them outside of having rescued more than a few from their worst nightmares. He had met a few of Jess' little cousins, tossed a ball around with them, but was far from an expert.

Dean, on the other hand, he'd seen with kids and knew that despite all odds, he had a natural rapport with them. Maybe it was because he was just a big kid himself. Sam had a sense that his brother would either be the same kind of shitty, militaristic, authoritarian father theirs had been or the kind of dad Sam himself wished he'd had. Enough stalling, Sam dived in. "Ever thought of having them?"

"Not really." Dean lied. Sam was trying to psycho-analyze him again and at six in the morning. So, he threw him back a curve ball. "I like practicing."

His tactic backfired. The thought of sex just made him think of leaving Cassie. His mood soured almost instantly and he added, "Seems like it would be a good idea to get rid of the boogeyman before bringing more kids into the world."

Sam knew full well that Dean was deflecting, because it would be too frigging difficult to just have a real discussion. Fine. Dean, could be like that all he wanted. Sam would just have to show him that it wasn't hard to talk about something seriously for a change. "Jess and I used to talk about it. She wanted eight."

"Sheesh." Now, that sounded like a nightmare to Dean.

"Yeah. I had talked her down to five." Sam smiled, then frowned. Thinking of Jessica usually had that effect on him.

Dean could sense his brother starting to tense. He couldn't really imagine how much that must have sucked, to see her up on the roof like that, unable to do a goddam thing to save her. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want Sam to think about it. Fine. He'd talk about his fucking feelings. Sort of. "Cassie's a career girl, you know. Plans to do foreign correspondence, maybe war journalism, that kind of thing and work her way up to the White House press corp."

"Yeah, that sounds like her." Sam felt a strange sense of pride, as if Cassie were already his sister in law. Or something.

"What it doesn't really sound like is a family of five." Dean and Cassie had strategically avoided any real talk of the future. Considering their past, it was a miracle that they even had a present.

But it wasn't like it hadn't gone through Dean's head. Back then and now. They'd had a real nice time last night, for a change. But Dean knew he had no business thinking about or acting like he and Cassie had a chance. He didn't even trust himself to be alone with her without Sam in the next room to keep him from harming her.

"You never know. Jess also planned on being on the Supreme Court by 50, so…" He huffed a bitter laugh. "I have no doubt, she would have found a way to do it all."

While they had been talking, the father of the young boy approached, "He wants to know if you guys want to play?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. Dean shook his head at the guy. "Nah, we're cool."

Dean had no doubt that Cassie would accomplish anything she set her mind to, with or without him. He had just wanted to stick around until he could be sure that she had her mind set on … what? Waiting for him? Waiting for him to do what? It's not like his job was ever going to be over. There would always be evil shit to deal with, right? So, what was the point?

What did Sam want him to do? It was Sam's brilliant fucking idea to come back and 'get some closure.' How do you get closure on walking away from something you want so fucking badly?

Sam hated to interrupt Dean's reverie, but he had to tell his brother what he knew before his head burst with the information. "Dean. Are you happy? With Cassie."

Dean smirked, "I haven't been laid this much since … last time I was with Cassie, so, yeah. How could I not be happy? But all good things must end." He shrugged like he couldn't possibly care less. He was so practiced at it that he almost convinced himself, sometimes.

Sam ignored Dean's non-answer and began working up to the point. "You're not using protection, are you?"

Dean flinched, "Seriously, Dad?"

"Seriously."

Dean smirked. "Well, we were, but then we ran out, so … I'm clean. She's clean."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's ignorant answer. "Condoms are not just protection against STDs, Dean."

"She's a modern woman. I assume she's on the pill."

He could honestly brain Dean sometimes. "You assume? Kind of an important thing not to be sure about."

"Jesus, Sam. She doesn't want to get knocked up any more than I … What is your deal?" It dawned on Dean that they had been talking about kids for Sam's entire talk.

"What do you think Cassie would do if she got pregnant? You think she'd keep it?" Sam was coming around the home stretch.

"Are we seriously having this conversation? You're like a high school counselor. One of the creepy ones who tries to touch your leg."

Sam made a face to show just how disturbing that image was.

"What? That never happened to you?" Dean shrugged. "Wait. Why? Did she say something? Sam."

Sam didn't answer. He knew that Dean didn't put any stock in his dreams. Dean joked about them and played it off, because deep down he didn't take the premonitions seriously. Ever since what had happened to Jess, Sam had been afraid to sleep, afraid to dream. The more real his dreams felt, the more certain he was that they would become reality, sooner or later.

This was the first time one of these lucid dreams had been about something pleasant, kind of. Pleasant, if Dean and Cassie wanted a kid. Cassie had looked totally blissful pushing the tan-skinned, green-eyed, golden haired child on a swing. Dean had been nowhere to be seen. Maybe it wasn't even his kid. Maybe Sam was misinterpreting the dream.

But those eyes. The shape and the color were too familiar. Sam was sure. "Would you want her to keep it?"

It finally dawned on Dean what Sam was saying. "Shit. Holy shit."

He practically dropped his body onto a bench. He stared ahead, breathing shallowly with his mouth open. "Holy shit."

He glanced up at Sam. "Fuck."

Then, Dean rose from the bench and took off running towards the apartment building.

Cassie was sitting on the sofa next to Bryce. Dean didn't even bother to close the door behind him. Her friend's face fell. Her mouth opened in surprise. "Thought you were gone."

Out of breath, he walked over, fell on his knees and took her face in both hands. "No. No. Never."

He kissed her long and languid until she pulled back and inhaled sharply, "Okay."

Ignoring Bryce's irate glare, Dean began to wind his silver ring from his finger. "I have been such an asshole. I don't mean to be, I swear. It's just … Whatever it is, I will fix it."

Cassie shook her head to try to clear it. "OK. You're giving me whiplash, Dean."

"I am never going to leave you again. I swear."

He grabbed her hand in his and tried to put his silver ring on her ring finger, pointer, middle finger. It fit snugly on her thumb. He kissed the palm of her hand and nestled his face against it. His eyes squeezed tight against the tears welling up in his throat. Finally, he buried his face against her stomach with his arms tightly around her waist.

Dumbfounded, she looked up at Bryce and Sam, who had just stepped into the open door. For lack of a better idea, she ran her hand soothingly over Dean's hair and tried to convince him to stand.


	10. Chapter 10

The place was aptly named Through the Looking Glass. To Sam, it felt more like being in a spaceship than a night club. It was wall-to-wall mirrors. Every surface that wasn't reflective was made of metal or translucent glass.

At the moment, he was peering down through the bar into an aquarium teeming with brightly colored fish. His reflection stared back from the walls and ceilings. Even when he had tried to retreat to the bathroom for a moment's peace from the mind-numbing, incessant bass and unabashed stares from other patrons, he was surrounded by mirrors and ogling eyes.

He had quickly abandoned the restroom again, as eyes had raked over him even more so in there than at the bar. Sam was comfortable in most company, but this place was a little intense. He was never at ease as the center of attention and had never been the object of so much hungry leering in his life. If someone was trying to psychologically torture him, this would be a good way to begin.

Somehow, Dean managed to look like he was in the driver's seat of the Impala, totally calm and in control despite the fact that he was apparently even higher up on the menu. The words, "No, thanks." had fallen from his brother's mouth more than a dozen times since they had arrived less than an hour ago. Dean didn't even bother to make eye contact with the guys who approached him. A few of them had whispered something in his ear. What, Sam could only imagine, considering the lewd suggestions he'd received.

Cassie was one of two women in the place. She was wearing severe, dark makeup that accentuated her sensuous features. Her hair was straightened and pulled up out of her face. Her lithe frame appeared to have been poured into the shiny, black tube dress. There may not have been many men in the bar who could appreciate just how amazing she looked. Sam, for one, noticed. He made a point not to look directly at her when he shouted over the techno music that was so loud he could feel it pounding in his teeth. "This is peace?"

Cassie leaned in close enough that she could speak normally. "It's Bryce's version of peace."

A shiver coursed down Sam's spine at the sensation of her warm breath on his ear. Two men next to him at the bar leaned into a sultry kiss, their tongues wrangling in the open air between them. Sam promptly turned away to keep himself from staring. It wasn't safe to let his eyes land anywhere, so he looked back down at the fish.

"You should have a drink." Cassie stifled a laugh at Sam's adorable nervousness and flagged the bartender. "Inviting you two here was a pretty huge olive branch, considering the start those two got off to."

On Cassie's other side, Bryce spoke close to Dean's ear. "Let's dance."

"Yeah, I'm gonna pass on that." Dean downed the last of his drink and subdued his urge to break the guy's irritatingly pretty face. It looked like he was wearing eye makeup, but from this close, Dean could tell that he just had crazy thick eyelashes. Not like Dean gave a shit.

"Come on. Guys might stop hitting on you if they think you're taken." Bryce nudged him.

Dean glared at Cassie who smiled and waved him off to the dance floor. The only reason Dean had gone along with this was that he knew that it was important to her that he get along with her friend.

Bryce reached for his hand, but Dean quickly yanked it away. There was only so far he was going with this. Holding Bryce's hand was way the fuck too far. Dean steered clear of him and stared, wide-eyed at Sam who only shrugged and yelled, "Go with it."

 _Yeah. Easy for him to say. Little prick._

"You're next, Stretch." Bryce swerved backwards and gestured to Sam with both pointer fingers.

Sam swiveled on his glass stool and gripped his drink. "Okay. I am officially terrified."

"Just relax." Cassie laughed and cupped her hands to her mouth to hoot as Bryce twirled gracefully around a stiffly moving Dean. The older Winchester cursed between his teeth. Another guy eased up and started grinding his ass. Dean spun with his fists bared.

Sam laughed so hard, he spat his drink back into his glass.

Bryce's movements were fluid and flawless: Latin and burlesque inspired, intended to be entrancing to anyone who might be interested. He could sense how very uneasy Dean was, despite his controlled demeanor. Bryce leaned forward and spoke loudly. "She really likes you."

"She has good taste." Dean did a tight two step and tried not to gawk at the gyrating male bodies around him, especially not at Bryce's.

Bryce flowed his hands from the air above his head, down his own body and continued to dance. He turned his back so that Cassie and Sam could not see as his expression darkened. He glared coldly into Dean's eyes. "She likes you. I don't."

Someone tapped on Sam's shoulder. He turned to meet inviting eyes and smiled bashfully, "Um. No, thank you."

The other guy glanced at Cassie. She shrugged an apology and nudged Sam, "You should dance."

Sam had been itching to touch her. He couldn't remember ever feeling so compelled to do something he knew he shouldn't. His face in the mirror behind the bar was serene and cool; his face was a lie. His blood was boiling as he combatted with a desire to just stroke this woman's face or run his fingers over her exposed shoulder. When her elbow playfully prodded his arm, he stopped fighting it and took her hand. "You're right."

Cassie resisted, "Oh no."

"Come on, Fearless." Sam smiled and pulled her to the dance floor with both hands.

The crowd went wild as The Weather Girls' "It's Raining Men" started to play. Sam and Cassie danced freestyle, facing each other, laughing and most importantly to Cassie, maintaining a respectable distance between them.

Sam had been telling the truth. He wasn't a bad dancer at all. As big as he was, there was a natural grace and effortlessness about the way he moved. It was difficult not to try to watch his whole body. In fact, all of the guys around them who were doing just that.

When the song ended, Cassie applauded and started to make her way back to the bar. Spanish guitar quickly led into a salsa number. Sam reached low to wrap his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his body.

"Okay," she caught her breath and relented.

By the time the song was over, Cassie's hand rested on Sam's chest. Her knees were a little weak. She still swayed, a bit dizzy from all the spinning and dipping. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Beneath her palm, she could feel Sam's heart hammering, as well. She forced herself to ignore the smell of his sweat and cologne, the light pressure of his hand on the small of her back, the firm outline of his shaft against her stomach. She reminded herself that it was part of the male anatomy. And normal for it to feel huge; Sam was a big boy.

She stepped away from him and tried not to appear too frantic as she searched the club for Dean and Bryce. "I think we should probably…"

"Wait. Cassie…" Sam held her hand, inexplicably unable to let her go just yet.

Bryce saw Sam pull her close again in the mirror and set his glass back on the bar, "You and I. We need to come to an understanding about Cassie."

Dean lifted his chin, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You two are playing a dangerous game."

Dean scoffed and started to walk away.

Bryce held a firm hand against his chest and bodily blocked his path. "Your relationship is toxic. It can't be allowed to go on."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact. And I think you already know it."

Sam leaned down so he could speak into Cassie's ear without yelling. "I wanted to tell you about Jessica."

"Your girlfriend?"

He nodded and instinctively began to sway them, although much too gently considering the raucous music. "She … was murdered by the same thing that killed my mother. The kind of thing Dean and I hunt."

She looked up at him, but didn't speak. How was she supposed to respond to that? She could only barely understand it. 'The kind of thing.' That meant a ghost or something. Cassie had hoped her life would go back to normal after they had gotten rid of the spirit that had killed her father. It should have been obvious that with Dean and his family there was no chance at normal.

Cassie stopped dancing. "Why are you telling me this, Sam? Why now?"

"Because, it makes me wonder…" Someone bumped into him and apologized. He didn't notice and it wouldn't have mattered, except that it forced their bodies even closer together. His eyes never wavered from hers. "It makes me wonder if anybody we get close to is ever safe."

She considered what he said and slowly, a smile spread across her face, "What? Like Spiderman?"

Sam couldn't help but match her smile and her growing laughter. "Exactly like that."

"Thanks for the warning, Sam." Cassie was still smiling.

Sam quickly sobered, realizing that she wasn't taking him seriously, "I think my brother is trying to protect you from something." It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would Dean spend the night in the car, watching the building when he could be warm in bed with Cassie?

Finally, she registered the fear in Sam's voice and asked, gravely. "What is it, then?"

"I don't know. But you can believe that I …" He huffed awkwardly before correcting himself. "Dean … we both are not going to let anything happen to you." He would be damned if another person they loved would be harmed by on his watch. He would die before he let that happen.

"How about this?" Bryce countered, "You leave now or I'll break you."

Dean scoffed, "I'd love to see you try." He casually helped himself to another drink.

Bryce moved close, invading Dean's space. "I know exactly what you are, Dean Winchester. Can you say the same about me?" When he kissed Dean firmly on the lips, it wasn't seductive. It was predatory. A show of dominance.

Dean roared and shoved him away. Bryce tapped the tip of one finger on the bar. In that instant, the club went dark and the music ground to a halt. Everyone groaned. Instinctively, Sam tightened his arm protectively arm tight around Cassie. He reached for the hilt of his gun and began to barrel through the crowd toward the exit.

The power came back up: music screeched on, the strobe lights flickered as garish as ever. People started dancing again like it had never happened. Cassie gently slipped away from Sam. He was still on guard, searching the club for any blatant source of danger. Cassie found Dean at the bar and made her way towards him.

Bryce winked at his bewildered prey, smiled and sucked suggestively at the end of his straw.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean unbuttoned his shirt and hurled it onto the foot of Cassie's bed. "That guy is not coming to the wedding."

He was putting it lightly, considering that there was already a silver bullet with Bryce's mother fucking name engraved on it. Not to mention a whole fucking can of salt and a pack of matches that Dean would personally be watching burn Bryce's bones to dust. Dean didn't know what that asshole was, but Bryce's days were fucking numbered. The fucking number was zero. He was going down tonight. The minute Cassie was asleep.

But he couldn't very well tell Cassie that, especially in the likely case that she was questioned about her friend's disappearance. Dean had to let her maintain plausible deniability.

Cassie laughed, stepping out of her dress. "You're not serious."

Dean watched her, feeling a little guilty knowing that she was going to be losing her dad and best friend in the same month. He could only hope that gaining a husband and then, a child would balance it out.

 _Wife and kid._

 _Holy shit._

The idea that he was going to have a family still freaked Dean out, but he was actually starting to get kind of excited about the whole thing, too. It wouldn't be a big, fancy wedding. Who could afford that? He wondered if his father would tear himself away from whatever he was doing to be there. Even if not, even if John was pissed at first, once it was explained, his dad would have to understand. Family is family and Cassie was about to become his family. And their child… their child was blood. Nothing is more important than that.

Dean stepped softly against her and pressed a kiss onto her shoulder. "We can go get the paperwork started tomorrow."

"Dean." She stepped back to look up at him. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious." He tried to enclose her in his arms, but she evaded him.

She shook her head, utterly confounded, "Where is this even coming from? Last night, you were packed to go. Now, you want to…" The laughter sounded as bitter as it tasted in her mouth. It wasn't funny. It was insane. "I'm not going to marry you, Dean … Ever."

Dean Winchester was not marriage material. He wasn't even really mature enough to date seriously. He'd been unpredictable when they first met and was worse now. Staying with him was delaying the inevitable. All this absurd talk of marriage was making that abundantly clear.

Dean just pursed his lips and nodded, "You'll change your mind."

"I sincerely doubt it." Her voice cracked.

Dean squeezed his eyes tight against the wave of anger washing over him.

Seeing how upset he was and hoping to avoid another outburst, Cassie touched his arm. There was no reason for this to become an issue. Their relationship was what it was. Marvelous at times, but not forever.

Sam's eyes popped open.

"Jesus." He panted for air, swiped a sweaty palm down his face and leapt to his feet.

With neck breaking speed, Dean grabbed Cassie's wrist. He swung and slammed her back against the mirror that hung from her closet door. The glass shattered just as Sam flung open the bedroom door. He stormed in, growling his brother's name and raising his hand as if to push him away from Cassie.

Only, he never made contact. Without touching Dean at all, somehow, his older brother flew back against the wall.

Dean's eyes flashed silver more quickly than Cassie could have seen, even if her eyes had been opened. But Sam noticed. He didn't know what the fuck he was seeing. He also didn't know what he had just done, but it didn't matter. He could work all that out later. His only concern was shielding Cassie.

Dean glanced between his nosy fucking brother and this hateful bitch who kept rejecting him. He had seen them dancing together. Had seen Sam's hand damn near gripping her ass. Had seen her gaze up into his eyes like some kind of lovestruck Disney princess. He would end them both. Dean took a step forward, grunting like a rabid animal.

"Dean." Sam's nostrils flared. He tilted his head in warning and took a fighting stance in front of where Cassie cowered on the ground with her knees pressed to her chest and hands covering her ears.

Dean blinked as a flicker of reason tugged at his mind. He shoved past Sam, brushing his shoulder roughly against his brother.

Once he was sure Dean had left the apartment, Sam turned and lifted Cassie over the glass that surrounded her bare and bleeding feet.


	12. Chapter 12

Cassie hissed and bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out as Sam used the tweezers to pluck the last piece of glass from her back. The shard clinked along the metal sides of the bowl. He apologized for the pain as he began to apply iodine to her lacerated skin. She gripped the towel over her chest more firmly and squeezed her eyes shut, but did not cry out, even though it hurt like hell.

"Cassie, I don't know if you're ready to hear this, but that wasn't my brother."

Sam's words rolled around and bounced off the already stressed walls of Cassie's mind for a few minutes before she asked, "Who was it?"

"I don't know." Sam answered honestly. He was still piecing together what he had seen in his dream with what had happened in real life.

The dream had been an unbearably vivid vision of Dean hacking away at Cassie with an ax, while the golden haired, green eyed child watched. But what had been most chilling was that it didn't feel like it was a premonition of the future. It had felt like it was happening now. That was what had caused him to skulk outside of their bedroom door until he heard the commotion inside.

"Shapeshifter?" Cassie ventured, using the same word Dean had said.

Sam had flipped through the book he'd given her. It covered satanic ritual, exorcisms and witchcraft. There hadn't been anything about shifters. Cassie knew more than she had let on.

Sensing Sam's reticence, Cassie explained, "Dean told me you guys dealt with one here, not long ago. Could it be that?"

She seemed shaken up, but stable. Rational. Fearless. It made Sam strangely proud. "Well, it couldn't be that one, but maybe a relative."

"And it…" She covered her mouth, "How do I know when I was with Dean and when it was that thing?"

"You can't worry about that." He tried to reassure her, but the question made him wonder whether the attacker in his dream was his brother or the shifter. It also raised the question of whether the kid was really Dean's. This was getting more complicated by the second. "We're going to find it. You stay here. Don't leave. Don't do anything until I get back. Okay?"

Cassie was on the verge of defying his orders for the sake of asserting her independence and nodded instead. As he stood up to leave, she called out, "Sam."

He stopped, "Yeah."

"How will I know it's you?"

It was a good question. Her mind was incredibly clear. Even he and Dean hadn't thought of that the first time they'd dealt with the shifter. But it wasn't an easy thing to tell either. The last one had assumed Dean's persona. It even had access to his memories. It was downright terrifying how much like his brother it had been. Finally, something occurred to him. "Your phone."

"Call you?" Cassie frowned, unimpressed by the suggestion.

"No. Make me look through your phone. If my eyes are weird in any way, it's not me. If I refuse, it's not me. Same thing applies to Dean."

Once again, she steeled her nerves, took a deep breath and nodded.

Sam gave a weak smile and caressed her hair for just a second. "It's going to be okay."

He stepped from the apartment armed with a gun and a knife. The first order of business was to find his brother. Then, find whatever was impersonating him and kill it.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean answered on the second ring. He sounded winded, but not terribly upset.

"Where the hell are you?" Sam growled.

"Calling on a neighbor."

He could almost hear the smile in his brother's voice.

 **CHAPTER 14**

Entering the dark apartment, Sam held his gun in one hand, flashlight in the other and followed the sounds of grunts and blows. He bowed to take a closer look at a large stick in a terrarium. All of a sudden, it became a snake and struck at the glass. Sam jumped back with a shout. From the other room, Dean called, "Sam?"

Catching his breath, but heart still pounding, Sam replied, "Yeah."

He stepped cautiously into a dim bedroom where Dean was standing over someone. All Sam could see were a man's bare legs. His brother groaned with the effort of throwing another punch and then, grinned up at his younger brother. Dean stepped back, revealing a bound, naked and bleeding version of himself sitting on the floor. Sam fumbled to keep from dropping his flashlight.

"Hey. Welcome, Sammy. Me and Bryce are having the most interesting talk." A crowbar hung loosely from the standing Dean's left hand.

Sam froze, wide-eyed and caught completely off guard. He gawked for a moment, erratically swinging his gun between the two Deans, entirely unsure of what to do. Keeping the gun trained on the most threatening Dean, he fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone as the standing Dean made an annoyed face.

The Dean on the floor looked up at him through bloody, half-lidded eyes and smirked. "Crowbar. I know. Kinky, right?"

"Dean?" Sam peered through the phone at both of them. The standing Dean's eyes were normal, but then, so were the eyes of the bloody Dean on the floor.

"What? What is your problem? It's me allright. Get that thing out of my face." Standing-Dean, Dressed-Dean, Pissed and Characteristically Insolent-Dean rolled his eyes and swatted at Sam's phone, "Come on, man. Get it together." He smacked the back of his little brother's head.

Still, the younger brother stammered, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. "Uh. Sorry, he… you don't see that?"

"See what?" Dean looked down at his handiwork. With his face all swollen and busted, this fucker wasn't looking so pretty anymore and that was enough to put a little grin on Dean's face.

Sam, however, was still frowning between them. "He looks … It's you. You don't see that?"

Standing-Dean obviously wasn't seeing what Sam was seeing. That was not comforting.

"Say something." Sam spoke to the bloodied Dean on the floor.

Bryce smirked as his voice and face instantly morphed from Dean's into Jessica's. "What should I say, Baby?"

"Oh God." Sam stumbled back and stumbled over the foot of the bed. He couldn't get far enough fast enough.

To Dean, that was a pretty big overreaction for being called Baby, even by this creep. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked without turning to check on his clumsy oaf of a brother.

Sam groaned, unable to take his eyes off his beautiful, long dead girlfriend whose grinning face was bloodied and beaten.

Jess pressed her busted lips together. Her cheeks puffed up and she broke into gut busting laughter before turning back into Bryce. "You two are fucking hilarious. What a pair of stooges."

"What is it?" Sam barely breathed the question, still staring with unblinking eyes.

A shapeshifter, at least the kind they had encountered, was much slower and much messier than this.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Some kind of evil bastard. He made me… Made me hurt her. Made me think I was fucking insane."

"Wait. That was you?" Sam's mouth fell open.

"It was my hands. But I never, never would have done that to her in my right mind. You know that. I just … couldn't fucking control myself." Dean backhanded the creature on the floor and jabbed its ankle with the sharp tip of the crowbar. The thing howled, giving Dean a bit of satisfaction. He was determined to make it suffer. "It started _back then_. It was why I told her about what we do. I had a feeling I was possessed or something. It's why I didn't try harder to make things work."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Sam could hardly believe his brother's stubbornness sometimes. It was like he refused to let anyone help him. "This is like with that ghost doctor in Illinois, driving people mad."

Dean remembered, but didn't like to think of how his brother had pulled the trigger in his face, not once but twice. Sam had been given some kind of temporary lobotomy by a mad, aggressive spirit and it wasn't his fault, even if the reasons he had given sounded like they were straight out of Sam's playbook. "Yeah. A lot like that."

"But this guy… " Sam gestured to the bloody mess of a man whimpering on the floor, "He's no ghost."

"No."

"And, it's obviously not a shifter. Not your run of the mill variety anyway. I'm thinking his game is hallucinatory. So, that means what? Mind control?" Sam ventured his best guess.

Bryce's whining became quiet chuckles as they talked. Dean gave him another fist to the jaw. "You like that, motherfucker?"

"Love it." Bryce smiled up at him with heat behind his swollen eyes.

"You've done the whole silver and holy water thing?"

Dean sucked his teeth, impatiently, "Come on, Sam. What kind of amateur do you think I am? Not everything responds to that shit and you know it. Look on his chest."

Sam crouched to investigate a tattoo over Bryce's pec that was partly obscured by blood. "It's a heart, Dean."

"The other one. Lower."

Once again, Sam scrutinized Bryce's smoothly chiseled and blood splattered body until he found a brand on the man's hip. "Why is he naked?"

"He was like that when I got in here. What, you think I frigging stripped him?" Dean barked back. "That symbol. You recognize it?"

Sam squinted. "Looks like some kind of bird."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Hey, Stretch." Bryce grinned with his head rested back against the wall.

Straightening up and facing his brother, Sam asked, "Dean, did you try talking to him?"

"No, Sam. I did not, because my methods are better."

"They're obviously not very effective."

Dean shrugged. "It depends on what you're trying to accomplish. I, personally, feel a lot better. Now, check this out." Dean disappeared into the closet and pushed on a side wall. A wave of heat sweltered into the room as the wall moved.

Following close behind him, Sam had to duck to enter a large room with three rows of tables where dark green plants with burgundy shoots resembling peacock feathers grew under artificial light. A dehumidifier hummed loudly. "How the hell did you find this?'

"It's where he was when I came in."

As they slowly investigated the place, Sam was struck with one nagging question. " Okay, so is the guy human or not?"

Dean rolled his eyes, hardly in the mood to shoot the shit with Captain Obvious.

"But what is his MO? Why would he be trying to sabotage your relationship with Cassie?" Now that they knew Bryce wasn't interested in being with Cassie himself, it just didn't make any sense.

"I don't fucking know, Sam. How about crazy? How's that for a motive? I have no idea. I don't even care. This shit is over. We take him out tonight."

It just didn't add up. Sam shook his head. "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not." Dean spat out.

"But what if you are? This guy is Cassie's best friend. You really think this is wise?"

"She has no idea what she's dealing with. Do you know what kind of plant this is or not?" Dean poked at it with the tip of his crowbar.

Sam rubbed one of the leaves between his fingers and sniffed it.

"Jesus, Sam. Don't touch it!"

Sam frowned trying to place the familiar odor. "I've smelled this before."

"It ain't wacky weed." Dean joked and poked in the dirt with the tip of his crowbar.

"Hey, Dean. Have a look at this." Sam had hit the jackpot. In the corner of the room, various symbols, similar to Bryce's tattoo were drawn on the floor and the wall around an altar. All sorts of specimens, including hair and bones and a shriveled eyeball were strewn about.

First, Sam picked up a lock of hair to examine it.

"Dude, stop touching stuff." Dean warned, anxiously.

"Cassie's."

Dean snatched the lock from him and nodded his confirmation. "That sick fuck."

"And this…" Sam picked up specimens of his own hair and Dean's before he swiped a finger around the lip of the mortar and pestle and frowned at the powdery residue on his fingertips. "This is her tea."

" I need you to find out what he is and what the fuck this shit is." Dean jabbed one of the leaves into Sam's chest. "And question Cassie."

"You think she knows?" The idea threw Sam for a loop, but they had to rule out everything.

"No way. But she might give us something useful."

"And you?" Sam followed Dean through the closet back into the bedroom.

"I'm going to stay here and keep playing piñata until this fuck opens up." Dean grinned cruelly at Bryce.

Sam nodded obediently and started towards the door. On second thought, he added, "Dean. Don't kill him. Not yet. What if it's magic? We might need him alive to break the spell."

Dean had already thought of that or else the fucker would already be ash. He nodded in agreement and kicked Bryce in the teeth.

Sam knew Dean was doing as they were taught: beating the information out of the enemy. Still, he winced at the violence and turned away as Bryce defiantly spit out a mouthful of blood and smiled. As he reached for the door knob, Sam remembered something else that needed to be discussed, "About what happened back there…"

"Not now, Sam. I need you to find out what we're dealing with here." While that was true, Dean also did not want to talk about Sam's Jedi moment or his own freak out or any of it. All he wanted was to break the frigging curse, dispatch with the evil asshole, get back to Cassie and somehow make it up to her.


End file.
